Remembering Joy
by sam's folly
Summary: Story #3 in Redefining Joy 'Verse where Sam has paraplegia. Things are finally coming together for TJ Nelek. She is 18, about to leave for college, and her best guy friend from childhood has finally noticed her as more than a friend. Then one day she wakes up to find that six years have passed and she's married to a guy in a wheelchair named Sam Winchester. What the hell? Sam/OFC
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's Note: Although this story is the third in a series, I've tried to put enough back story in that you can read it without having to read the first two stories.**_

_**This story will focus on Sam and TJ. There will be SOME Dean and Heather, BUT NOT A LOT.**_

_**Thanks to my wonderful betas SKZB, sallyloveslinus, and Catsluver. You all have unique input that is EXTREMELY helpful and very much appreciated. Thanks also to coolhan08 for answering my questions and Lilac Elf for letting me bounce plot ideas off of you. You guys rock!**_

_**Warning: I rated this T for bad language like the 'F' word and realistic mentions of bodily functions. I will rate all chapters containing sex scenes with an M rating, so you will be fairly warned.**_

_**Disclaimer: Anything you recognize was created by Eric Kripke, and I'm not making any money off of it. My OC's are purely fictional and any similarities to real people are coincidental.**_

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_****PLEASE READ ANOTHER WARNING**: I'm a firm believer that no one is perfect, including the characters in my stories, whether they be OC's or Sam and Dean. There may be times you'll want to strangle some of them in this story. Just know this: No one in my stories will ever be all good, but they won't be all bad, either. ;-)  
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_**PROLOGUE**_

_**December 29, 2010**_

_Sam was a mess. _

_He rubbed his sweaty palms on his khakis, accidentally smearing dirt on the only pair of pants he had with him. _Oh, come on, _he groaned to himself. _You gotta be kidding me. _Everything that could go wrong this morning had._

_He could smell the scent of old books and the mustiness of a building that had been there long before he'd ever been born. The waiting area of the office was austere, with an air of disapproval and disdain. There were a few antiquated yet sturdy wooden chairs along one of the walls, but Sam wasn't sitting in one of them. He was in his wheelchair, sitting almost in the center of the small anteroom because there was nowhere else for him to go. _

_He shifted his shoulders and pulled at the stiff collar of his shirt, suddenly feeling uncomfortably warm—again. He knew he was one of many these walls had seen, and they were unimpressed with him. _

_Time ticked by slowly on the utilitarian round clock on the wall, mocking him. To top it all off, his legs bounced up and down uncontrollably. It was like his legs were nervous too. He put his hands on his knees and pressed down, but it did nothing to stop the steady jiggling. _

_Finally, a wooden door creaked open. He snapped his head up, his pulse quickening. _

This _was the moment he'd missed all those years ago. _

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**PART 1**

**BROKEN**

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**Chapter 1**

**April 2009**

Sam stared at the letter, felt the weight and texture of it between his fingers. The empty envelope it had come in slipped from his other hand and fell in what seemed like slow motion to the floor. He didn't bother to pick it up. He felt numb, completely stunned.

He'd just gotten home from his bookkeeping job at Shorty's. "Home" was an apartment he shared with Dean and, unofficially, his fiancée, TJ. Sam was tired, but he'd seen the mail on the dinette table and had pulled up to his usual spot in his wheelchair, perusing through the mail out of habit. The letter had been buried underneath neighborhood circulars and other junk mail that TJ probably set on the table when she'd come home from work earlier in the evening. She obviously hadn't gone through the mail or had just done a cursory look because there's no way she wouldn't have said anything about it if she'd seen the letter. She would have called or texted him while he was at work.

He hadn't told TJ or Dean that he'd applied there. He'd done it just for the hell of it, thinking there was no way he'd ever get accepted. Okay. Maybe that wasn't exactly true because it was a major pain in the ass to write a decent personal statement, gather letters of recommendation, and fill out the application. It wasn't exactly something he would normally do just for the fun of it. But he'd never _really_ thought anything would come of it, never _really _thought he stood a chance.

The fact that he'd abruptly left Stanford in the middle of the fall semester of his senior year was a big strike against him. He'd had a good reason, of course—the horrible death of his girlfriend Jessica—but he'd always heard law school and med school admissions committees were brutally unsympathetic to things like that, especially at the best schools in the country, where the competition to get in was fierce and cutthroat. He hadn't even bothered to apply again to Stanford. Too much bad karma there all around.

Then there was his disability, which was either a liability or an advantage, depending on who you talked to. If he didn't get in, it was because of his disability. If he got in, it was because of his disability. He hadn't wanted it to be a factor either way, had wanted to leave that little bit of information off the application. He'd had to put it on there for logistical reasons, though, because certain things were needed to accommodate his disability. He had to make sure everything was accessible, and there was no getting around that.

He would be graduating from San Diego State in a month, which was a feat in and of itself. After Jessica died, Sam never thought he'd go back to college—not to Stanford, not to anywhere. Ever. Especially not to law school. Especially not to one of the top law schools in the country. And being paralyzed on a hunt had been another nail in the coffin—at least he'd thought so at first.

But, to his complete surprise, he'd been accepted. He knew he should be happy about it, but he wasn't. He was wary instead. He had to think about this and all the implications of it. He and TJ had gotten engaged over Christmas. They hadn't set a date for their wedding yet, but that didn't mean that Sam wanted to be separated from her for weeks, maybe even months, at a time.

She still had at least a year and a half left of grad school at San Diego State in molecular biology, so it was perfect that he'd already been accepted to a local law school, UC San Diego. He'd gotten the acceptance letter last week. It would be convenient, and he wouldn't have to leave TJ and Dean. Nothing would really have to change.

If he chose this other school, _everything_ would change. He was tempted to throw the letter in the trash and pretend he hadn't gotten it so he wouldn't have to agonize over the decision, but he couldn't. Not only were they accepting him, but they were offering him a full ride.

It took him back to another time when he'd received a similar letter from Stanford, and his stomach tightened into a painful, sickening knot. He'd had the same dilemma then. Should he leave everything and everyone that he loved, or give up his dream? It was all too familiar, and he feared the consequences might be similar, that something horrible might happen to Dean or TJ, because when did things ever go right for Sam Winchester?

Granted, the situation was a little different this time. He had an alternative. It wasn't all or nothing. He could still go to UC San Diego. They had offered him a scholarship too. It wasn't nearly as prestigious, but it was a good school, ranked in the top ten for California law schools. But it wasn't as well known nationally. It wouldn't guarantee him a job at virtually any law firm he chose, anywhere in the country.

He was so deep in his thoughts that he was a little startled when he felt TJ's arms wrap around him from behind his chair, felt her chin rest on his shoulder. "Hey," she said. "I thought I heard you come in." Her slow, easy Kentucky drawl was a sultry vibration in his ear that sent a buzz of electricity through him. She chuckled softly. "I'm a better guard dog than Rocket. All he did was lift an eyelid when he heard you."

Sam smiled. She was referring to the stray dog—an Aussie Shepherd/Lab/terrier mix—Sam found on Coronado Beach and adopted last fall.

"You comin' to bed soon?"

"Yeah." He folded up the letter and tossed it casually on the table. TJ's palms were resting on his chest, and he placed his hands over them, feeling the engagement ring on her left hand pressing into him. "I'll be in there in a minute."

She kissed him on the cheek. "Anything good in the mail?"

He cleared his throat, feeling uneasy, not sure he could talk about the letter yet. "Mostly junk."

She saw the empty envelope on the floor and bent next to him to pick it up. He thought she wasn't going to notice where it was from and was relieved, but at the last second before she set it on the table, she saw the return address and frowned. "Sam, what's this?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he studied her, drinking in her auburn-chestnut hair that was down around her shoulders, the sprinkling of freckles over her nose and cheekbones that he loved so much, her pretty brown eyes and long lashes. In that moment, all he could think about was how much he would miss seeing that every day, how hard it would be to say goodbye to her for long periods at a time. A long-distance relationship wasn't what he wanted. He wanted to be with her every possible minute of the day.

He pushed his chair a little away from the table and tugged on her wrist. "Come here." His voice sounded dense and sort of husky to his own ears.

She sat in his lap, wrapping one arm loosely around his neck and tracing the muscles of his chest through the cotton of his plaid button-down shirt with her other hand. He breathed in the scent of her, flower and mint and a hint of fabric softener that clung to her white tank top and baby-blue, drawstring pajama shorts.

Her long legs hung off to one side of the front of his chair. He didn't have armrests to get in the way, so he pulled her knees up closer to where she was more securely in his lap, her legs hanging over his wheel. Then he ran his fingertips along her exposed thigh.

Her eyes darkened a fraction, became sensual, but then she poked her cheek with her tongue, quirking her mouth in amusement. "Are you tryin' to distract me, Sam Winchester?"

He smiled, feeling his heart expand. "Maybe."

She tilted her head slightly and eyed him with suspicion. "And just why would you wanna do that?"

He gave her a tender kiss on her neck, just below her jaw. "Because I don't want to talk right now."

"Mmm." She arched her neck, giving him better access.

Thinking he'd succeeded in distracting her, he trailed kisses over her throat, his hand lazily combing through the hair at the nape of her neck. The smell of her was intoxicating, and he felt his blood begin to heat.

In the next instant, however, she reached over and abruptly grabbed the folded letter from the table.

He frowned, irritated and disappointed. "TJ, that's mine."

"I know," she said, unfazed. She held it in her hand but didn't unfold it.

"It's against federal law to steal someone's mail," he lectured.

Her brows went up and she tapped her chin with the pilfered letter, flaunting it. "Look at you. Already talkin' like a lawyer."

In a flash, he grabbed the letter from her. She made a noise of surprised annoyance and reached for it. He held it high above his head, arm stretched straight, out of her reach.

She rolled her eyes. "You know all I have to do is stand up."

He gave her a look of mock reproach. "That's not a fair fight, since you know I can't."

She smirked. "All's fair in love and war." She reached for the letter one more time.

He dropped it behind him, not caring where it landed, and started tickling her viciously under the arm she was reaching with. She immediately snatched her arm down, laughing uncontrollably. He tickled her stomach, and she squirmed and writhed, arching her back. He had to support her shoulders with his arm and almost lost his balance.

"You call...that fair?" she gasped, coming up for air from laughing.

He grinned and kept up the torture. She was extremely ticklish, especially under her arms and on her stomach. She couldn't even lie in bed with her arms up because just _thinking_ about being tickled there made her antsy. It sometimes made lovemaking interesting.

"Stop!" she begged in between laughs.

Rocket came into the room barking, ready to attack whoever was "hurting" TJ. Sam laughed and paused his tickling for a moment. "It's all right, boy," he soothed.

Rocket trotted over to them, tail wagging in short, uncertain bursts, and then he started sniffing Sam's tire.

"You pee on that, you die," Sam warned.

Rocket eyed him with calculating pale-blue eyes, and Sam could swear it looked like Rocket shrugged before skulking off to his favorite spot under the coffee table.

TJ giggled, and Sam began another tickling assault.

"No!" she squealed, bucking and squirming again.

He paused. "Are you gonna leave my letter alone?"

She was breathing heavily, out of breath from laughing so hard. "Yes," she said with a wary smile, eyeing his hand as if waiting for another attack. "Just stop tickling me."

He gave her another quick tickle for good measure, and she yelped with another burst of giggles. "Sam, stop!"

He chuckled and then relented, holding up his hand in a gesture of peace.

She took a second to catch her breath, eyes full of mirth. Then she hugged his neck and kissed his mouth, her lips soft and inviting. His lips parted, letting her in, and he felt a tingle of pleasure. He was lost in the kiss and groaned when she broke away.

She was more sober, searching his eyes for a moment, and he knew she wouldn't let the subject of the letter go. "Sam?" Her tone was probing and a little reproving.

He sighed. He would have to tell her sooner or later. Why was he holding back? Still, he stalled for another moment, touching her lips lightly with his thumb. Her lips were pink and a little swollen from the kiss. "It's a letter from Berkeley," he finally said.

"Duh. I saw that on the envelope." She arched a brow. "And?"

"They're offering me a full ride to their law school."

She drew in a sharp breath, her eyes widening. "Holy shit."

He felt like there was a pall of thick smoke hanging over his head, the suffocating weight of a decision that would totally change his life and maybe even his relationship with her.

She seemed oblivious to his mood and broke into a bright smile. "Sam, that's—that's awesome. Why didn't you want to tell me? I didn't even know you'd applied there."

He shrugged. "I don't really know why I did. I never thought I'd get accepted."

She snorted, as if that was the dumbest thing she'd ever heard. "You're brilliant. Why wouldn't they want you?" She gave him a quick kiss on his mouth. "I'm so excited for you."

"I don't think—I don't know if I'm going."

She frowned. "Why?"

"There's a lot to consider."

"Like what?"

He was a little irked that she was so accepting of it, that she was so happy about it. Didn't she realize how much it would change things? "Berkeley isn't close to San Diego, TJ. I'd have to leave."

She just looked at him.

"I'd have to leave _you,"_ he clarified.

She lowered her eyes for a second and then settled them back on his face. "So we do a long-distance relationship. It's not ideal, but lots of couples do it." She grabbed the front of his shirt and gave it a little shake for emphasis. "It's _Berkeley_, Sam."

He ran a hand through his hair. "I need to think about it."

"We could see each other on long weekends and breaks. It seems like there's one every month anyway."

"I don't have a car."

"You can buy one. You've been saving for ages. Why do you keep putting it off? Surely you have enough for at least a decent down payment."

He didn't answer.

She tilted her head, eyeing him suspiciously. "You have been saving money, right?"

He cleared his throat, suddenly a little uncomfortable. "Yeah."

"So what's the problem?"

"I kind of spent some of it. A lot of it, actually."

Her brow creased. "On what?"

He planted a gentle kiss on her lips. "On something important."

She studied him for a long time, and he could see it dawn on her face when she figured it out. She looked down at the diamond solitaire on her finger. "You didn't."

His silence was confirmation.

She placed her hand on his cheek, her expression both admonishing and tender. "Good Lord, Sam. Why?"

"Engagement rings don't grow on trees."

She quirked her mouth. "This one did."

She was referring to how he'd disguised the ring as an ornament on their Christmas tree. He smiled fondly at the memory.

"Actually, I figured you got it from a pawn shop or Craig's List or something."

He was mildly affronted. "No."

She was quiet, and there was a hint of guilt in her eyes.

"I wanted you to have something new," he explained, "something that was solely yours. I didn't want you to have a ring that had bad mojo, that was for sale in some pawn shop because of someone else's heartache."

She glanced up at the ceiling and gave a shaky sigh, her chin trembling almost imperceptibly.

He laced his fingers through hers, giving her hand a squeeze. "It's okay, Teej. I wanted to."

She looked at him with an affectionate smile. "You dork. Do you know that you're, like, the most awesome guy in the world?"

He looked down at their hands, feeling a little embarrassed by the compliment.

"Okay." Her tone was suddenly matter-of-fact. "So you'll take my car, then."

His head came up. "No."

"Yes."

"I hate to point out the obvious, but you need a car, TJ."

"You don't have one, and you do fine. I can bum rides from Dean and Heather or Gretchen." She was talking about Dean's girlfriend, Heather, and Gretchen, who'd been TJ's roommate in their undergrad days. "Or ride the bus," TJ added.

"Riding the bus sucks. You spend more time waiting around than actually getting somewhere."

"If it's good enough for you, it's good enough for me."

"What would your parents say?"

She shrugged. "Why do they have to know?"

"I'm not gonna lie to your parents."

"Fine. We'll tell them. They already consider you their son anyway, especially since we're engaged. They'll understand. Besides, they're not normal parents. They're a little nutty, remember?"

"No. I won't take your car. Berkeley is almost five hundred miles from here. It would be too much wear and tear on it."

"It's my car, Sam. It's paid for, and I pay the insurance and gas on it. I can do whatever I want with it."

He shook his head. "No. It's—Berkeley is too far away to see each other on weekends, anyway. It's an eight-hour drive. We'd spend all our time on the road."

"So we'll meet each other half way or get cheap airline tickets. Airlines are always having sales."

"That's too expensive, even with sales, and where would we stay if we drove and met half way?"

"We'll do it the Winchester way: find some cheap, seedy motel. It'll be like old times, like when you used to travel around with your dad and Dean."

He allowed himself a small smile, surprised that he actually missed some of those times.

She kissed him and traced the bit of his collarbone that was exposed under his shirt with her fingertip. "We can make new memories."

He sighed, trying to ignore how her simple touch made his body react. "If I leave..."

She waited for him to go on. When he didn't, she prompted him. "If you leave...?"

He stared absently at the pile of mail on the table. "Dean."

"He's a big boy, Sam. Besides, he's at Heather's a lot anyway when she's not pulling a paramedic shift. He won't be alone."

"There's things you don't know. When I went to Stanford before, it was hard on him."

"Sam, things are a lot different now for both of you. I mean, yeah. He'll miss you, but he won't be alone," she repeated. "He has Heather _and_ me."

She didn't get it, and Sam wasn't convinced, not by a long shot.

She put her hand on his cheek. "He'll want what's best for you. That's all he's ever wanted. He'll want you to follow your dream."

"Still—"

"He will kick your ass if you don't go."

Sam looked away and exhaled, not knowing how to explain it to her. She knew something of the bond he had with Dean, but he didn't know if anyone could really understand the depth of it, the weird, almost codependent nature of it. He wasn't sure _he _even understood it.

"What about Rocket?" he said, throwing another obstacle in her way. "I don't think I can take him with me. I've heard the first year of law school is hell, and I won't have any time for him."

"He'll stay with Dean, but I'll help. I can come check on him between classes during the day, and Dean can take him to the dog park in the evenings or something. We'll figure it out, work out a schedule. I'm sure Heather will help, too. We'll take good care of him. You know that."

"I'll miss him."

"You can't turn down Berkeley because of a dog, Sam, even if he is a great dog."

He sighed. "I don't want to leave you_,_ TJ." He was back to that again and hated the almost whiny desperation in his voice.

She rested her forehead on his. "We can talk and text every day. We'll get one of those friends and family plans or something where it's unlimited."

"How are you gonna meet me half way if I have your car?"

"I'll borrow Heather or Gretchen's car or take a Greyhound."

"You have an answer for everything, don't you?"

She pulled back and gave him a smile. "Yep. Just give it a try, Sam. You deserve this. It's not like it's prison. If you hate it, you don't have to stay."

"Why are you trying so hard to get rid of me?"

She gave him a look that said he was being ridiculous and she didn't need to dignify that with a response. "Why did you apply to Berkeley?" she countered instead.

He shifted his shoulders and tightened his mouth, not answering.

"Sam, why did you apply there?" she asked more deliberately.

He let out a long breath. "It's a good school."

She arched a brow. "And?"

"I never thought I'd really get accepted," he said again.

"So why apply?"

"Because."

She smirked at his juvenile answer. "Because why?"

He rolled his eyes, acquiescing. "Because it's ranked number seven in the nation among law schools and number two in California, and if by some miracle they accepted me, it would be the chance of a lifetime."

She placed a palm on each side of his face and smiled. "Sam, you're going to Berkeley Law."

He swallowed hard, eyes locked with hers. For the first time, the possibility that it could actually happen began to sink in. "Berkeley Law," he said, trying it out on his tongue. "Huh."

**XXXXXXXX**

It was an hour before Sam was supposed to show up at Cox Arena for the College of Arts and Letters commencement ceremony. He was already dressed in khakis, dress shirt, tie, and navy blazer and was waiting for Bobby and Dean to get dressed. Bobby had made the two-day trek from Sioux Falls just for Sam's graduation.

Sam was a little edgy and excited at the same time. He never thought he'd see this day after he left Stanford. He'd taken the long, long way around, but he'd done it. He was graduating from San Diego State with a degree in Political Science.

He was sitting in his wheelchair, playing tug of war with Rocket in the living room of the apartment. Rocket was hunched down, pulling on the well-worn and -chewed toy rope that Sam had bought at PetSmart when he'd first adopted Rocket last October.

Rocket was a medium-sized dog but he was much stronger than he looked. He pulled so hard that Sam had to grip the wheel of his chair with his free hand in order not to lose his balance and topple over. Sam had pretty good abdominal and trunk control above his navel, but below that point, he had none. He had no sensation or muscle function below that level—complete paralysis caused by a knife to his spinal cord, courtesy of a poltergeist—and it sometimes made it difficult to keep his seat.

Rocket gave a low growl, challenging Sam with his light-colored eyes. The mutt always looked so silly with his floppy, chocolate Lab ears and tan, terrier beard. He had a patch of white above his mouth that looked like a milk mustache, and Sam laughed at the incongruity of Rocket's goofy features and the ferocity with which he tugged on the rope.

This was serious business to Rocket, a "fight" to the death. Sam jerked hard on the rope, shaking it from side to side. Rocket's head moved involuntarily with it, but he didn't let go, just growled louder, baring his teeth in mock menace.

TJ was at her apartment because her parents had driven all the way from Kentucky for Sam's graduation. She'd stayed with them last night because they didn't know and wouldn't approve that she spent most of her nights with Sam. He didn't like misleading them, but sometimes nighttime was the only chance Sam got to see TJ because their class and work schedules were so hectic, and he couldn't give up that time with her.

She insisted her parents probably suspected what went on, but it was sort of a don't-ask/don't-tell policy. At least TJ and Sam were engaged, which made it seem a little less sinful, although he still felt guilty. It meant more to Sam than anyone would ever know that her parents had driven all that way for him. It made him feel like he could truly be a part of their family, and he didn't want to do anything to mess that up.

He still hadn't agreed to take TJ's car to Berkeley. He had discovered a portable adaptive hand control that would make it possible for him to drive without having to permanently modify her car, but he just didn't feel comfortable leaving her without transportation. If anyone was going to be riding a Greyhound back and forth, it would be him. He was used to riding the bus most of the time anyway. He had no doubt he'd be able to get around Berkeley as well as he could San Diego. It was getting to and from San Diego for visits that would be the most difficult part.

He felt an ache of trepidation, a feeling he got frequently when he thought about leaving Dean and TJ. Why was it that everything came with a price? He was being given the chance of a lifetime, a chance that most people would kill for, but he had to leave everyone he loved behind in order to do it.

Dean had seemed genuinely happy when Sam told him the news, but, since then, Dean had been quiet about it and always seemed to change the subject whenever Sam or TJ mentioned it. He'd been working later in the evenings or spending time with Heather at her apartment, and Sam couldn't help but think that Dean was avoiding him.

Sam had an idea what Dean was feeling because he knew his brother, and he felt the same feeling himself. It was the same painful ache he'd felt the day he left Dad and Dean for Stanford, like he was leaving a part of himself behind.

He focused his attention back on Rocket, trying to snap out of his morose thoughts. What the hell was wrong with him? He was starting to turn into the emo girl Dean always said he was.

Sam finally managed to wrench the rope away from Rocket, who barked in protest, rear end sticking up, paws out in front like he was ready to pounce, tail wagging furiously. He was ready for Sam to throw the rope so he could fetch it. Sam held it in the air and let loose, throwing it toward the hallway.

At that same moment, Bobby, who had been taking a shower in Dean's bathroom, walked into the room, hair slicked and combed back neatly, parted on the side. He was wearing his FBI clothes—slacks, white dress shirt, and diagonally-striped tie. The rope hit him squarely in the face, and he caught it as it fell, giving Sam a dour look.

Sam's eyes widened. "Oh, shit, Bobby. I'm sorry. I didn't know you were there."

Bobby gave an annoyed grunt and then threw the rope toward the kitchen, much to Rocket's delight. Rocket scampered toward the kitchen to retrieve his toy. Bobby sat on the black, fake-leather Salvation Army sofa to put his dress shoes on.

"Thanks, Bobby, you know, for coming out here."

Bobby grunted again. "No need to thank me."

Sam was humbled. He loved the gruff hunter like a father and owed him a lot. Bobby had gotten him through a very dark time after a devastating shoulder injury that had happened when Sam had already been struggling to accept his disability. Sam's voice came out a little thick. "It really means a lot that you're here."

Bobby finished tying his shoe and squinted at Sam. "I wouldn't have missed this for the world, kid."

Sam smiled and ducked his head for a second before looking back up.

Dean came into the room dressed similarly to Sam and Bobby. He adjusted his tie and looked at Sam. "You ready?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm ready." Sam pulled his cell out of his pants pocket and texted TJ that they were leaving soon. She and her parents were planning to meet them at the arena. Heather was finishing up a twenty-four-hour paramedic shift that she hadn't been able to get out of, but she would meet them all later for a celebration dinner.

Dean grabbed the keys to the Impala off the glass-top, '80s-style dinette table—another purchase from the Salvation Army—and they all headed toward the door.

Dean turned to Sam. "Dude, aren't you forgetting something?"

Sam frowned. "What?"

"Your cap and gown?" Dean's brows were raised, and his look implied Sam wasn't firing on all four cylinders.

Sam grinned. "Oh. Right."

On the way to the arena, Dean drove and Bobby sat shotgun in the front seat of the Impala. Sam sat behind Dean in the back seat, the parts of his wheelchair next to him behind Bobby's seat. Sam's wheelchair was a black, titanium, rigid-frame chair that didn't fold. Instead, he had to take out the seat cushion that Velcroed to the seat of the chair and take the back wheels off—similar to the way the wheels of some bicycles popped off—so it would fit in the car. It would've fit in the trunk of the Impala, but Dean had so much crap back there these days it was just as easy to put it in the back seat, as long as the space wasn't needed for someone to sit there.

Bobby had offered to sit in the back, but Sam didn't mind. The Impala was a big car, the way they made them in the '60s, and he didn't feel cramped in the back. He'd have easier access to his chair this way and could get it set up faster when he was ready to get out.

Sam was lost in his thoughts, not paying attention to where they were going, when it dawned on him that they weren't going in the direction of Cox Arena. "Dean, where are we going?"

Dean glanced back at him. "Just a little detour, Sammy. There's something I need to do at the store." He was referring to the Firestone store where he worked as a mechanic and occasional clerk in the front lobby.

Sam looked at his watch, a little irritated. What could possibly be so important that it couldn't wait until after his graduation ceremony? "Can't it wait?"

Dean shared a fleeting look with Bobby, his mouth in a faint smirk. "Nope."

Sam huffed. What the hell?

When they pulled into the parking lot of the store, Sam was surprised when both Dean and Bobby got out. He'd figured he and Bobby would stay in the Impala while Dean quickly did whatever he needed to do. Dean opened Sam's door.

Sam looked at him and frowned. "What?"

"Get out, dude."

Sam made a noise of annoyance and looked pointedly at his watch. "Why?"

"Just get out."

"You're gonna make me late," Sam argued.

"Don't get your 'nads in a shrivel. We'll make it in plenty of time."

"Why do I need to get out? There's nothing—"

"Jeez, Sam. Would you just shut up and get out?"

Sam stared at him for a second, trying to figure out what was going on. With a hard sigh, he grabbed the frame of his chair and set it outside. When he'd put the wheels on and reassembled it, he grabbed the roof of the Impala with one hand and the outer frame of his chair with the other and swiftly transferred his butt to the seat of the chair. Finally, he pulled his legs out one at a time from the car with his hands and put his feet on the footplate of his chair, slamming the car door shut once he was done.

He swiveled his chair around and looked up at Dean with expectancy and impatience. "So?"

Dean grinned at Bobby, who had his usual unimpressed look that said they were both idjits.

Sam and Bobby followed behind Dean, who, to Sam's surprise, led them to the garage at the back of the store instead of inside the main lobby. Several of Dean's co-workers greeted him, and he waved and called to them in acknowledgment, introducing them to Sam and Bobby. He suddenly seemed to be in a really good mood.

Sam looked around. He couldn't remember ever being to this part of Dean's workplace. He'd been in the lobby once or twice, but never in the garage. The smell of grease and new tires infiltrated his nose, and he could hear the cacophony of air tools busy at work and a radio playing hard rock in the background.

They made their way through the cluttered area, Sam maneuvering his chair through tight spaces and around tool carts and grease spots, trying to keep his tires from getting dirty. He could already feel his hands getting gritty, though, and was annoyed with Dean. Why would he drag him here today of all days?

Finally, they ended up in the last bay of the garage, which was a little more secluded from the bustle and activity of the rest of the place. There was a car there covered with a blue tarp, bits of black peeking out where the tarp didn't reach.

Bobby stood quietly next to Sam, arms crossed. Dean untied the strings on the tarp that held it in place. He looked at Sam with a cocky shrug of his brows and pulled the tarp off the car with a dramatic flourish to reveal a shiny black Honda Accord. It was similar to TJ's, only it was a two-door instead of a four.

Dean threw a set of keys at Sam, startling him. Sam caught the keys with a quick, automatic reflex, then stared at them in his hand, wondering what he was supposed to do with them.

"It's yours, Sammy," Dean said, a smirk tugging at his lips. "A little graduation gift from Bobby and me."

Sam sat there for a moment with his mouth slightly open in disbelief. Slowly, his eyes traveled up to Dean and then to Bobby. Sam hadn't seen this coming at all, although it should have been obvious.

"Better close your mouth, kiddo," Bobby drawled. "You're catchin' flies."

Sam shut his mouth and swallowed. "I...uh..."

"C'mere. Let me show you around." Dean opened the driver's door wide to reveal a light gray interior. He patted the roof, then stood back and made room for Sam.

Sam stayed where he was. "Dean, this—how much did this cost?"

Dean's chin went up, a look of mock affront crossing his features. "Dude, didn't anyone ever tell you it isn't nice to ask how much a gift costs?"

Sam looked at Bobby, who gave a half shrug. "I called around, got a good deal on it."

"It's a '99," informed Dean, "but Bobby and I both checked it out. It's in great condition, only has 34,000 miles on it, only one owner—some old lady that had it for the last ten years. She just drove it to the grocery store and back home."

The car did look almost new, but Sam was dubious. "Isn't that what everyone selling a used car says?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Jesus, Sam. Just get your Debbie Downer ass over here and check it out."

Still hesitant, Sam finally pushed himself close to the car. He shot another glance at Dean, who raised a brow in expectation, and then to Bobby, who simply nodded.

Unlike the Impala, the roof was too sloped for him to hold onto, so Sam grabbed the steering wheel with one hand for leverage and the frame of his chair with the other, quickly transferring his butt to the driver's seat. He then pulled his legs in one at a time, crossing them at the shins so they'd be out of the way of the pedals.

Dean patted Sam on the shoulder. "How does it feel?"

Sam could only feel the soft velour of the seat against his back and shoulders from the waist up, but he didn't have the heart to remind Dean of that. At least the part he could feel was comfortable. "It's good," he said with a nod.

"See, Bobby and I did a little research. Accords in the late '90s had lots of leg room when you scoot the seat all the way back, suitable for Sasquatches. And on most SCI forums, people seemed to prefer a two-door," he pushed a button and Sam's seat began to lie back, "because there's more room to recline so you can pull your chair frame across your body and stow it in the back seat."

Sam pushed the same button and raised the back of the seat up, listening as Dean went on to describe the features of the vehicle and how things worked. Dean and Bobby had put a lot of thought into it, had made sure it would meet all of Sam's needs, and he had no doubt it was in mint condition if it had both their seals of approval.

"It gets twenty-eight miles to the gallon on the highway and twenty-one in the city," Dean added with satisfaction.

Sam nodded to show he was listening.

Dean went on to explain a few more features, and when he was done talking, there was a moment of silence. "Well?" he prompted. "What do you think?"

Sam ran his hands along the hard, vinyl-covered steering wheel, taking in the interior of the car. It was clean and in nice condition, despite the fact that the car was older. The outside was in good shape too, almost like new, and had obviously been recently waxed.

Dean looked proud. "I installed the hand control myself. You pull it down for the gas and push it forward for the brake."

Sam put his left hand on the lever that was situated up next to the steering wheel, put the key in the ignition with his right hand, and started the car. He pulled down on the hand control, and it was almost the same feel as what he remembered pushing the gas pedal with his foot felt like. He felt the engine respond immediately, revving it. It was smooth and quiet.

Now Sam knew what Dean had been doing those evenings when he'd thought Dean was avoiding him. This wasn't just a car. It was Dean's way of giving his blessing, of letting Sam know he was okay with him going to Berkeley.

There was a mixture of emotions roiling inside of Sam—profound gratitude, shock, a bit of guilt (although he wasn't sure why), and overwhelming love for his brother and Bobby. He felt a bit of a lump in his throat and cleared it. "I—"

"Check it out, Sammy," Dean interrupted. His expression was a little like a kid's in a candy store. He leaned in, reaching across Sam, and fingered a bracket that looked like it was made for an iPod. "Now you can hook up your iPod and listen to the Jonas Brothers or whatever the hell that shit is you like."

When Dean withdrew, Sam looked him in the eye for a long moment, trying to get out a decent thank-you. Dean swallowed hard and then glanced away.

"Dean, this—"

"All right, man," Dean said, overly cheerful and clapping Sam on the back. "Let's get this bitch to a graduation. I'll put your chair in the trunk, and we can get your cap and gown from the Impala on the way out." He bent over and grabbed the push handles on the low backrest of Sam's chair, pushing it toward the back of the car. "Hey," he called from the vicinity of the trunk, "did you notice the spoiler on the back? Makes it sportier, right?"

"Yeah," Sam answered, smiling to himself.

"You can have shotgun, Bobby," Dean said. "Since it's a coupe, you might have a hard time getting in and out of the back seat with those creaky knees of yours."

Bobby rolled his eyes and muttered something about Dean being a chucklehead.

Sam's smile widened. It started to sink in for him that he was about to drive a car—_his_ car—for the first time in over two years. His pulse quickened and his hands felt sort of tingly. Hell, he wasn't even sure he should be driving without a test drive. He'd never used hand controls before. Then there was the fact that he didn't have a valid California driver's license. He'd have to remedy that.

He looked at Bobby, who was still standing nearby.

Bobby shut Sam's door and leaned in the window, meeting Sam's gaze with the ghost of a smile. "You're welcome, son."

_**TBC**_


	2. Chapter 2

**_AUTHOR'S NOTE: First of all, thanks to everyone who reviewed and alerted Chapter 1. You guys are SO awesome. _**

**_Secondly, this chapter is more about what Sam's daily life is like, but there are parts that are quite naughty and steamy, so I'M GIVING IT AN M RATING. If sex scenes make you uncomfortable, just skip this chap and send me a PM. I'll give you a more G-rated summary. :) _**

**_Beta'd by sallyloveslinus, skzb, and Catsluver. Hugs to you all for taking time out of your busy lives to help me out!  
_**

**Chapter 2**

**August 2009**

In a separate bag from his clothes, Sam packed all of his normal toiletries, along with catheters, sterile latex gloves, wet wipes, lubricant—all the things he would need for his bowel and bladder routines—and lotion to help prevent his skin from drying out and breaking down. He also had to pack large absorbent pads to protect the mattress on the bed he and TJ were going to sleep in just in case he had an accident during the night. He always cathed himself before he went to bed and also got up in the middle of the night to go again, but he could never be a hundred percent certain he wouldn't have an accident. He sure as hell wasn't about to chance it happening at TJ's boss's house.

Then there was the issue of his leg braces and forearm crutches. Should he take them? It was only for a few days, but he wasn't sure how wheelchair accessible the kitchen and other rooms in the house might be, and being able to get around on his crutches might come in handy. It would especially suck if his chair wouldn't fit through any of the bathroom doorways, which sometimes tended to be narrower in a lot of houses. His chair was as sleek and compact as possible, but he was a big guy. It had been custom built for his size, and there were some places he just couldn't fit. He decided to take the braces and crutches. Better to be safe than sorry.

It made him feel like an old woman, having to pack so much stuff. At least he wasn't on the meds anymore and didn't have to worry about packing those.

He and TJ were going away for a long weekend. The professor that TJ worked for as a teaching assistant, Dr. Rostom, had a house on the coast about an hour and a half from San Diego in Laguna Beach—a hell of a commute to SDSU on weekdays—and had asked TJ if she wanted to house-sit. All she had to do was feed the professor's two Golden Retrievers, water the plants, and generally keep an eye on things.

Orientation for first-year law students at Berkeley started August 13th, and it was Sam's last weekend in San Diego. TJ had jumped at the chance to house-sit, welcoming some alone time with him before he left. They had spent an idyllic summer together, had become closer than ever, and he didn't have the heart to turn her down, although he was wary.

Except for stays in the hospital for various reasons, this was the first time he'd stayed overnight somewhere away from his apartment—his apartment that was accessible and accommodated every facet of his disability. He debated whether he should take his shower chair and padded toilet seat but decided against it. It would be embarrassing lugging that stuff around, and, besides, he had no desire to turn Dr. Rostom's home into a gimp palace, even if it was just temporary.

Sam would deal. He'd seen videos on YouTube posted by others with SCI showing how they took baths and used a toilet (not actually _using_ it, but demonstrating with their clothes on) without any adaptive equipment, and he was willing to give it a try. If it worked out okay, it would certainly make traveling a lot easier in the future.

It had been over two and a half years since his injury, but there were still a lot of things that were new to him, ways of adapting that he hadn't tried. He'd learned more from those videos on YouTube than he had in rehab—not that his therapists in rehab hadn't been competent. It was just that there were an infinite number of situations and scenarios that were different now because of his paralysis. It would have been impossible for the therapists to cover everything. He realized that now, although he'd been scornful of them at the time. He hadn't exactly been the best patient in rehab. It had been one of the worst times of his life.

It suddenly dawned on him how monumental this four-day weekend with TJ actually was. Before his injury, he and Dean never stayed in any one place for more than about a week. Since his injury, with the exception of rehab, he'd lived in the same place for two years. It had been that long since he'd seen the inside of a seedy motel room.

He zipped his toiletry bag, set it on his lap, and wheeled into his bedroom where TJ was slinging a quilted, aqua-blue overnight bag over her shoulder. She was wearing a simple, hot-pink T-shirt that accentuated her breasts and trim figure, along with her usual jeans and flip-flops.

"Ready?" she asked with a slightly arched brow. Before he could answer, she turned her attention to her bag and unzipped it. Her ponytail bounced as she rummaged through it one last time, like she was making sure she hadn't forgotten something.

"Yeah. I'm ready." He grabbed his clothes duffel off the bed and added it to his lap."Could you grab my braces and crutches out of my closet?"

"Sure."

While she did that, he wheeled over to the small chest of drawers against one wall of his sparsely furnished room and got the sock-like covers he used to protect the skin on his legs from the braces, stuffing the covers into his clothes duffel.

TJ got the forearm crutches out and carried them both together in one hand and his long leg braces together in her other hand. His braces were technically called knee-ankle-foot orthotics or KAFOs. They were made of plastic that was custom molded to his legs and feet with metal components in strategic structural areas. He strapped them on with Velcro straps at his thighs, above and below his knees, his calves, and across the insteps of his feet.

With the KAFOs and the help of his crutches, he could walk short distances using his upper body muscles to swing his legs forward. It wasn't a practical way to get around at school or work because it took a lot of energy and strength. He could only walk around with them for fifteen or twenty minutes before needing to rest, but it allowed him to exercise, gave him a break from sitting _all_ the time, and let him feel tall again. He wore them a lot when he was at home, sometimes all day.

TJ glanced at Rocket, who was giving them a woeful look, wagging his tail in agitation. He seemed to sense something was up, and he didn't like it. He had been restless and underfoot the whole time Sam and TJ had been packing.

They'd decided to leave him with Dean for the weekend because they weren't sure how Rocket and Dr. Rostom's dogs would get along. TJ gave Rocket an apologetic look. "Sorry, boy. We won't be gone long."

Rocket tilted his head to the side as if trying to figure out what she had said and then whined. TJ looked at Sam, her brow slightly creased. "Poor baby. I feel bad for him."

Sam did too, but he didn't want to have to deal with Rocket's sometimes mischievous, unpredictable nature at Dr. Rostom's house. It was better not to chance the house getting messed up. Besides, they had already packed everything except the kitchen sink, and they didn't need Rocket's extra baggage."He'll be fine. Dean will take good care of him."

She gave him a dubious look, but Sam knew she was teasing. Rocket and Dean's relationship had been rocky in the past, but they had made their peace.

Rocket came over to her and she petted him, scratching between his ears. "You be a good boy," she said in the munchkin voice she used sometimes for him. She gave him a quick goodbye kiss on his head, then picked up Sam's crutches and headed to the door.

Sam reached down from his chair and gave Rocket a scratch on the chest. "Sorry to leave you, buddy. Don't give Dean a reason to kill you."

Rocket wagged his tail and barked, as if to say, _Who, me?_

By the time Sam and TJ got Sam's car loaded and were on their way, they got stuck in rush hour traffic and didn't get to the coast house until after eight. They unloaded their stuff and put it in the master bedroom. TJ said she felt a little weird staying in there and sleeping in Dr. Rostom's bed (visuals of the professor and his wife doing the nasty grossed her out), but they didn't have a choice. It was the only bedroom on the ground floor and the only room that had a bathroom accessible to Sam.

The master bathroom, much to their amazement, was larger than Sam's actual bedroom at the apartment. It had two separate white-marble vanities, one lower with a chair for a lady and a taller one for a man. There was a gigantic Jacuzzi tub in the center of the room and a large walk-in shower along one wall.

Like the master bedroom, the ground level of the rest of the house was large, open, and spacious. Even better, the floors were either a gray tile or hardwood. They were easy for Sam to push his chair on and would be easy to clean if he should happen to get them dirty with his tires.

Sam and TJ were impressed with the house, to say the least. Dr. Rostom apparently had other income besides that of being a professor because his coast house was easily worth millions and millions of dollars. No wonder he didn't mind the long commute if this was what he came home to every day.

They took the retrievers, Reeya and Jeevan, for a quick walk through the neighborhood and weren't in the mood to cook anything elaborate when they got back. They threw together a quick dish of whole-wheat fettuccine mixed with olive oil, lemon, and a few vegetables they'd brought with them. They had enough groceries to get them through the evening, but they'd have to go to the store and stock up tomorrow.

Sam's worry that he wouldn't be able to maneuver his chair in the kitchen had been unfounded. The kitchen was huge and outfitted with modern, gourmet appliances. Any chef would have been in heaven there.

After dinner, they decided to explore the rest of the house. TJ quickly scouted out the upstairs and informed Sam that there was nothing interesting, just a couple of guest bedrooms.

The house, which was situated on a cliff overlooking the Emerald Bay surf line, was immaculately decorated in a contemporary style with lots of bright colors and geometrically shaped furniture in expensive leathers and fabrics. The large glass patio doors facing the back led out to an awesome infinity edge pool that seemed to merge with the vast Pacific Ocean below it. It had a zero or "beach" type entry, where there was a gradual slope into the pool instead of having to use a ladder or steps.

It was a typical coastal California night with a brisk breeze, despite the fact that it was August. They were both wearing hoodies to keep the chill at bay. TJ kicked off one of her flip-flops, stuck her toe in the water, and then gave Sam a smile of wonder and appreciation. "Oh, my goodness," she purred in her Kentucky accent. "It's heated. It's like bathwater."

Sam pushed himself a little closer and took a look, like he could somehow tell the temperature of the water by looking at it. "Huh." It was illuminated by glowing green lights embedded in the sides of the pool, giving it a serene appearance, and it did look pretty inviting.

There was a twinkle in her eye."Let's get in."

He smiled. "I'll go get my swim trunks on."

The twinkle in her eye turned into something naughty. "Uh-uh." She kicked off her other flip-flop, pulled off her hoodie and t-shirt, then her jeans, until she was stripped down to her pink lacy bra and panties. "Who needs bathing suits?"

"Uh," he said with a tentative half-laugh, looking at the lights on the beach in the distance, "what if someone sees us?"

"Well, unless they're pervs lookin' at us with binoculars, I'd say we're pretty safe."

She was right. The house was secluded on the cliff, and there was no way any neighbors would be able to see the pool.

She slowly pulled off her bra and then her panties, exposing her tall, lithe body in all its glory. She turned toward the pool, glanced at him playfully over her shoulder, then entered and launched into the pool's depths, swimming as gracefully as a swan.

His mouth went dry and he swallowed, his heartbeat picking up speed. She didn't have to twist his arm.

It would be easier for him to get his clothes off while still in his chair, so he quickly pulled off his T-shirt and hoodie. Then he leaned to one side, using a hand on his wheel for leverage, and slid his boxers and jeans off his hip and butt with his other hand.

He repeated that, going from side to side, inching his jeans and underwear down until they were clear of his buttocks and thighs. Once that was done, he lifted his leg and rested his ankle on his knee so he could pull his black Converse sneaker off, followed by his pants and boxers, and repeated that on the other leg. Once the jeans and underwear were free and clear, he threw them over his shoulder in haste, not caring where they landed. He had probably set a record for the fastest he'd ever gotten undressed since his injury.

"Saaam," TJ drawled from the deep end of the pool, adding an extra syllable to his name, "this water is incredible." Her eyes traveled over his now naked body, and she bit her lip and smiled suggestively.

He would have been self-conscious of anyone else seeing him like this, his thin legs and other parts of his paralyzed body exposed, but the way TJ drank him in made him feel attractive and desirable—and very, very horny.

With quick movements, he lifted his legs at his knees with his hands, flopping his feet off the footplate and placing them on the ground. He then grabbed the frame of his wheelchair with one hand and leaned his weight forward until his other hand touched the ground, palm flat. Shifting his weight more to the hand on the ground, he dipped his head and lifted his butt in the air, then slowly lowered himself until he was sitting at the entrance to the pool where it began to slope.

He braced his hands, palms down on the decking of the pool, and turned himself around, scooting himself backwards into the water so he could drag his legs, glad that the entrance to the pool was made of a smooth, squishy, rubbery substance that was easier on his skin than concrete would have been. As much as he wanted to hurry, he took it slow, not wanting to do anything that would cause a pressure sore on his butt or his legs. Even a seemingly minor scrape could cause a sore that could take months to heal if he wasn't careful. He'd been there and done that not long after his injury, and it had _sucked_.

Once he was far enough in the water and his legs could float, he swam on his back, head up, so he could see his feet and make sure they weren't hitting the bottom of the pool since he couldn't feel them. When he reached the deep water, he turned to see TJ waiting for him, her mouth curved seductively.

He swam to her, the water enveloping him like a warm cloak. He loved the sudden freedom of movement he had, a feeling that he was defying gravity. It was a relief to not have to drag the lower half of his body around. He knew he shouldn't think that way, that it went against what his yoga teacher had taught him. He was harking back to that dark time when he'd hated his body, when he'd felt like half a human, like the paralyzed part of his body was dead and constantly bogging him down, holding him back.

This was different than that, though. It wasn't that he was regressing. He knew he was whole, that half his body wasn't dead. He wasn't going to start fighting his paralyzed body or try to conquer it like he had before. It wasn't something he had to overcome, and he had made peace with it, had learned to listen to it and respect it.

But he couldn't help but appreciate what he was feeling right now, this lightness of being, this sense of...well...floating. He wondered why he'd never gone to the pool at his apartment. He'd always been too self-conscious before, but he was moving beyond that. Besides, the almost euphoric sensation he had now trumped any insecurities that might linger.

When he reached TJ, he grinned, loving the sense of equality he felt with her, like he didn't have a disability anymore. "Hey."

She looked beautiful, long hair wet and plastered back on her head, lacy eyelashes wet and dewy. "Hay is for horses," she teased.

He chuckled. He hadn't heard her say that in a while, but she used to tease him with it a lot when they first started hanging out, back when they were just friends.

At some point during the time it had taken him to get into the pool, she had grabbed a few colorful pool noodles—long, cylindrical, skinny floaties—and handed him two of them to put under his arms so he wouldn't have to constantly tread water. Then she leaned forward and kissed him, combing her fingers idly through his hair, which was still mostly dry. "This is the life, isn't it?"

"Someday, I'll give you a house like this."

She smirked and shook her head. "I doubt it."

He raised his brows, surprised by her answer. "It's good to know your faith in me is so unwavering."

She gave a little half giggle. "It's not that I don't have faith in you. It's just that I figure you'll end up being a defense attorney who champions the meek and downtrodden—or Dean," she added wryly. "You're probably not gonna have two nickels to rub together."

"Oh, really?" he said with a grin, amused by her prediction.

"Really," she confirmed. "There's no way you'll ever be able to turn down someone in need of help—even if they can't afford to pay you."

"You're painting a pretty noble picture of me."

She was suddenly serious. "You are noble, Sam. I've never known anyone more noble or honorable than you."

Warmth radiated through him at her compliment, and he was moved that she thought that way about him, although he wasn't sure he deserved it. He leaned forward, taking her face in his hands and kissing her, his tongue tasting her lips.

"Mmm," she moaned in appreciation and then drew back a little. "So, I guess it's up to me to make all the money. _I'm_ gonna give _you_ a house like this."

"Okay," he said, giving her another peck on the lips.

She arched a brow. "'Okay'?" She seemed surprised that he had agreed so easily.

"Okay," he repeated. "You're gonna cure cancer one day." He meant it. She was incredibly intelligent.

"You're pretty smart yourself, you know."

"Does that mean I'll maybe have at least a few clients who'll actually pay me?"

"Maybe one or two."

He smiled.

She gave him a long, sultry look. "You know what?"

"What?"

She ran the tip of her finger over his chest, tracing the muscles there. He closed his eyes, savoring the simple, deceptively innocent touch.

"I want you, Sam Winchester. You turn me on, make me hunger for you. There's an ache deep inside me that only you can fill."

His blood ignited instantly and he leaned toward her, wanting to kiss her, to bury his tongue in her mouth and connect with her.

She pushed on his chest, stopping him. Her manner was coquettish, sensual. "Do you want me, too, Sam?"

"You know I do." He touched her cheek with his thumb, and she turned her head and took his thumb in her hot, sliky mouth, sucking and teasing. He closed his eyes and groaned with the intoxication of it.

After a moment, she turned her head back to him, his thumb popping out of her mouth with a luscious, wet popping sound. Her voice was low and sexy, her drawl in full force, her eyes a little hooded, a little mysterious. "Then if you want me, Sam," she paused, and her mouth curved into a mischievous grin, "come and get me." As quick as lightning, she had her hands on his shoulders and dunked him before taking off with a splash, noodle floaties popping out from under his arms and shooting away.

For a split second, Sam wondered what the hell had happened, feeling his ardor cool like he'd been doused by a bucket of cold water, but then he opened his eyes while he was still under and saw her kicking away from him. He broke the surface and grabbed for her, his fingers barely touching her ankle as it slipped out of his reach.

When she was several feet away from him, safely out of his range, she stopped and treaded water, a little breathless, the pale skin of her shoulders glowing in the moonlight. Her freckles gave her an impish quality, along with the wicked grin on her face.

He turned his head to the side a little, looking at her from the corner of his eye, pretending to be stern. "Oh, you are so gonna pay for that."

She arched a brow and drawled, "I certainly hope so."

With a guttural growl, he scooped in an armful of water using his considerable strength and launched himself toward her. Again, she was too quick for him, and he gave chase. They frolicked around like twelve-year-olds, splashing each other and laughing, until Sam was finally a nanosecond faster than her and caught her slender wrist in his grasp. He dunked her for good measure, and she came up sputtering, wiping the water and hair out of her eyes.

He grinned, pushing his own hair out of his face. "Payback's a bitch."

Her eyes narrowed and she splashed him. He laughed. They were near the shallow end of the pool, so he hooked his arm around her waist, pulling her with him as he swam with his free arm to the shelf where the shallow part ended and the deep began. He sat down on the shelf, legs floating a little out in front of him, and she sat in his lap, straddling him.

He placed his hands on her waist, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, her face just inches from his. They were both a little breathless, and he could feel her ribs expanding and contracting beneath his hands.

She looked at him, her brown eyes smoldering and telling him how she felt more than words ever could.

He kissed her, easy at first, flicking his tongue in and out of her mouth, nipping her bottom lip with his teeth. She moaned and pulled him tighter, deepening the kiss. Her breasts rubbed against his chest, their skin melding together, bonded by the heat of their bodies. They were both burning up, despite the chilly air that touched the exposed parts of their skin.

He wished for the millionth time that he could feel her sitting on his lap, that he could feel all of her against all of him, but he pushed it out of his mind. He couldn't dwell on that because there was nothing he could do about it. Instead, he concentrated on what he could feel—and, holy God, it was a lot. Every nerve ending above his waist was attuned to her. She was a bright, hot flame that he was drawn to, and there was no way he would ever be able to resist her. He would die without her.

She leaned back a fraction and pressed her palms on his chest, then gently rubbed his nipples with her thumbs until they hardened. His nipples were hypersensitive, sometimes painfully so, but she knew how to touch him, knew how to make him feel only pleasure.

He nibbled on her neck in the curve just below her ear and ran his hands over her shoulders, then moved down to her shoulder blades and traced them with the tips of his fingers. She shivered, but he knew it wasn't because she was cold. "Scoot back," she said, voice husky, "so that you're in the shallower water."

He did as she asked, scooting back to where the water only reached his waist, getting goose bumps on his arms and upper torso from the cool air hitting his wet skin. She got out and headed toward a neat stack of blue floatie mattresses near the pool.

She was so at ease with him, not self-conscious at all despite the fact that she was completely naked. She was no longer embarrassed of her body or the surgical scars from her battle with bulimia. He admired her firm butt as she bent to pick up the floatie and almost drooled at the sight of her breasts, her flat belly, the triangular patch of dark hair in her most private area, her long legs—all illuminated by the soft glow of the patio lights and the moon.

He caught her eye, and she gave him a saucy smirk, obviously very aware that he'd been enjoying the view. He smiled.

She laid the mattress down where the bottom of the pool started its subtle slope into the water. The floatie was the kind that wasn't inflatable, made out of some kind of thick, waterproof foam padding. "It's for you."

He realized she had gotten it for him to protect his skin from the bottom of the pool. He braced his palms and scooted himself onto the mat, then lowered his head so that he was lying down. He was submerged enough that his back was still in the warm water, but the front of his body was not.

She straddled him again. "Better?"

"Yeah."

She slowly leaned down toward him, her eyes filled with the promise of pleasure to come. When her mouth was close to his, she gave him a scorching kiss, probing deep and leaving nothing untouched by her tongue. She began to pull away, but he wanted more and curled a hand around the nape of her neck, holding her there.

He gave as good as he got, tracing her teeth with his tongue and then kissing her hard. With his other hand, he pulled her tightly to him, wanting to make her a part of him. Time seemed to stop for a moment and nothing mattered but this connection to her, this little dance of their tongues that filled him with delight and desire.

She broke free, breathless, and sat up. Her lips were red and swollen, and she looked beyond gorgeous. "God Almighty, Sam," she drawled. "You make me insane."

She made _him _insane. He couldn't even speak, only able to make a grunting noise that seemed to rumble from his chest. He was like a caveman, all his primal desires taking over, and he tugged on her again, wanting her tongue back inside his mouth.

She resisted, pushing on his chest, and scooped up a handful of water with her other hand. She let the water trickle onto his stomach, just above his navel where his sensation began. His upper abdominal muscles clenched involuntarily in reaction, and he relished the contrast of the warm water and the cool night air on his skin.

Once she was done, she bent down and licked at the water she had drizzled onto his stomach, taking her time, licking up each drop one by one, swirling her tongue in little circles in the process. She was right on the edge of where his feeling began, in the area that was sort of like a band around his waist, an area that was sometimes uncomfortable and felt weird. She knew how to touch him there though, was an expert at turning the area into an erogenous zone that had been a source of intense pleasure for him many times.

She lingered there, taking her time, until she had licked every last drop of the water off of him. His body began to tremble, straining to get satisfaction, desperate for a release of the growing, urgent tightness inside him.

She began to trail little kisses up his stomach, up to his sternum and then to his collarbone, which she traced with her tongue. He was almost in a trance, heart beating fast but muscles unable to move, held by the power of her skillful mouth. He didn't want the bliss to end.

She raised her head up just long enough to take in a breath, but the little movement broke through the daze he was in enough to make him realize that he was being selfish, that she was doing all the work. He ran his hands along her ribs and up to her breasts, then cupped them, massaging and squeezing. He gently twisted one of her nipples and she gasped, making a noise of pleasure deep in her throat. He felt it vibrate into his skin where she was still licking him.

She made her way to his arm, making a path of circles with her tongue over his bicep. She pulled his hand from her breast and straightened his arm so that it was lying by his side. Then she continued her tasting of him, flicking her tongue in the crease of his elbow.

His senses were on overdrive now, his brain and nerves compensating for the absence of sensation in the lower half of his body by giving him intense feeling in the parts he could feel. He concentrated on her tongue in that crevice, and it drove him wild, his mind flooding with erotic pleasure and bringing him to the brink of something incredible. As if sensing it, she moved lower and began kissing the inside of his arm just below his elbow, bringing him back from the edge. "Did that feel good?" she drawled between kisses.

"Oh, God, TJ. You know it did. Go back there."

"Hmmm," she murmured. "Not yet, baby. Not yet."

He groaned with need. He lifted his head a little and saw that one of her hands was down in his lower region, that she was trying to make him hard.

He could get an erection if she touched him there, but he couldn't feel it, couldn't control it. It didn't stem from his emotions, or he would have been hard the moment she had first taken her clothes off.

In the last year that they'd been together, especially after he'd gotten off all the meds he'd been on, he had better endurance. It seemed that practice made perfect, although "Little Sammy" was still unpredictable. Sometimes his erection lasted for a long time—sometimes long after he and TJ had finished making love, giving her a lot of fodder for some devilish teasing—and sometimes it didn't last long enough to bring satisfaction. It had mortified him the first time they'd been intimate and that had happened, but he had eventually gotten over it. They had long since discovered many ways to give each other satisfaction, and they had a very loving, healthy, sexual relationship.

He raised himself up on his elbows, reluctantly breaking TJ's kisses on his arm. "Let me make you ready, TJ."

She slowly closed her eyes and shuddered, arching her head back a moment. "Mercy, Sam. Just hearing your voice makes me ready."

He lay back down again, and she wriggled up so that he could reach her, one of her hands still stroking him. He licked her chest, the tip of his tongue at the point where her cleavage began, and trailed down to the faded surgical scar just beneath her breastbone. At the same time, he pressed two of his fingers inside her. She was moist and hot, and her body reacted instantly to his invasion, clenching around his fingers. It was incredibly erotic, and his mouth went dry, causing him to swallow hard.

He began sliding his fingers in and out, rubbing her with the heel of his hand at the same time. She rose up straighter and arched her back like a cat. She was on her knees, straddling him, thighs quivering. "Oh, Sam. Oh, my God."

He knew he'd brought her to the brink, just as she had him. "Not yet, baby," he said, echoing her words. "Not yet."

She groaned in protest.

He withdrew his fingers and felt for her hand, feeling the hard length of his penis in it, and joined her for a second in her stroking, long past the point of being disturbed that he couldn't feel it. Then he gently pulled her hand away, lacing his fingers with hers and guiding her hand until it was over his heart. He wanted her to feel how hard his heart beat for her.

He locked eyes with her and grabbed her hips, settling her directly on top of him. With her free hand, she fit him inside her. He held firm to her hips and began to move her up and down slowly. Her mouth opened a little and she closed her eyes, her expression one of concentration.

He loved to watch her, loved to see how her expression changed as her pleasure built.

She opened her eyes and they were overflowing with desire, hot and burning. "You're so hard, Sam. You fit me so perfectly and it feels so good. You slide in and out of me like steel wrapped in velvet." Her breath hitched, and her hand on his chest stiffened, clenching slightly. She dipped her head and shut her eyes. "Oh, God. You fill me up. You make me whole."

He loved it when she described how it felt to have him inside her, like explaining color to a blind man or a symphony to a deaf one. When he closed his eyes, he could visualize it. He could remember and meld that experience with what he felt now.

She lifted one of his hands off her hip and took each of his fingers, one by one, into her mouth. "I'm gonna show you how it feels, Sam."

His blood pressure skyrocketed.

Her eyes were hooded but she still had an almost hypnotic pull on his gaze. "I want you to keep moving my hip with your other hand. I want you to keep with my pace."

At first, he didn't understand what she meant, but then she took his thumb in her mouth, sucking on it. She held his wrist and slid his thumb in and out, in and out. He realized by his hand that was still on her hip that she was moving his thumb in sync with the way she was moving on top of him. He couldn't really control her movements with only one hand, but he could tell _how_ she was moving, and the rhythm they were creating was as old as Adam and Eve.

When she began to move his thumb faster inside her mouth, he squeezed her hip and felt her body respond, moving faster, too. He concentrated hard on the feel of his thumb, tried to clear his mind and just let the sweet friction of it pulsing in and out of her hot mouth fill his senses. He was surprised by the sudden intensity of it, excited by the fact that he felt her hip move in time with it, and he felt himself begin to take control, moving his thumb of his own volition, his fingers splayed on her cheek. She let go of his wrist and braced her hands on his chest.

He could feel the need building inside him, could feel his blood surging as his heart pumped, hammering so hard it felt like it would break free of his chest. _In and out, in and out, in and out._ The line between what was his thumb and what he knew in his mind was himself inside her began to blur. TJ's moans of ecstasy mingled with his own and they moved faster and faster. He'd never been so in sync with her.

Suddenly, he felt like he was soaring. His mind was flooded with endorphins that rushed through him in waves, and, at the same time, he felt like there was a tight knot in an unidentifiable place inside him that was suddenly bursting open and scattering into the wind. He couldn't contain himself any longer and cried out, unintelligible at first but then turning into words. "Oh, TJ. Oh, God, TJ." He gulped in mouthfuls of the night air as the ecstasy crescendoed and then slowly began to ebb.

She was moaning, eyes closed, sucking hard on his thumb, her back suddenly going rigid. He saw that she was beginning to climax and withdrew his thumb from her mouth. He was sated, and he wanted to hear her say his name.

She didn't disappoint him. "Oh, Sam. Oh, sweet Lord." She opened her eyes, leaned forward, and placed both of her palms on his shoulders, forearms on his chest, again bracing herself. Her eyes were glazed with the madness of her pleasure, her body rocking in a frenzy back and forth, and she gave a laugh that was almost hysterical. "Oh, yes. Oh, Sam. Sam! Oh, my God. I love you." She was panting hard. "Lord, have mercy. I love you. I love you."

When it was over, she rested her forehead on his shoulder for a long moment, catching her breath. He idly rubbed her back with his fingertips and felt her finally relax the full weight of her body onto him, head on his chest. He kissed the top of her head and wrapped his arms around her. "You're a friggin' genius, True Joy Nelek."

She gave a little snort of amusement and raised her head up to look at him."That...was...amazing," she said, enunciating each word, "but I'll kick your ass if you use my full name again."

He grinned. "You and Dean, always with the threats. When are you two gonna realize I can't feel my ass?"

"Hm. Good point. I'll have to devise another punishment." She rose up and planted a kiss on his lips. "I can be pretty creative, you know."

"Yeah, I know. I think I'll use your whole name more often," he teased.

She gave a halfhearted eye roll and then grew more serious. "That really was amazing."

"So, uh, Little Sammy was accommodating?" He was a little embarrassed to ask, but he wanted to know. It was a guy thing.

She nodded. "Little Sammy was quite the gentlemen. He definitely stuck around 'til the party was over." She gave a lewd glance toward his nether region. "But once it was over, he didn't overstay his welcome."

He held in a smile, trying to hide his relief and, at the same time, feeling a small sense of triumph. It was rare that he maintained an erection for exactly the right length of time.

"It was different this time," she said. "Incredible, actually. Did you feel it? I mean, you know..." She lowered her eyes and colored a bit.

He nodded in answer, loving that she could be so wanton but that some things still made her blush. "I felt it. That was the best it's ever been for me. I mean, that's saying a lot, because it's been _really_ good before."

"Good." She smiled, but then her brow furrowed into a pensive look. "I think maybe we didn't do the thumb thing long enough before. That's probably why it didn't work." She was in scientist mode now.

"Whatever you say, Professor Nelek." He had forgotten they'd tried the thumb thing before with less-than-stellar results.

"We have to take notes on these things, Sam," she chastised, "so we don't forget what works."

He made a noise that said there was no way in hell he was going to forget.

She giggled and gave him a gentle love bite on his chest, then laid her head back down, one hand resting palm down near her chin, fingers splayed across his skin.

They were quiet for a long time, both content and sated, both getting drowsy. In a soft voice, she broke the silence. "I love feeling your chest expand when you breathe, Sam. Your breath is safety and comfort. And your heartbeat is my heartbeat. It's my soul."

God, the things she said to him sometimes. He felt his throat narrow with emotion, and he tightened his arms around her. "You know, for a nerdy scientist, you can be pretty poetic."

"Hmm." She turned her head and lightly kissed his chest, then rested her chin on it. Suddenly, she laughed.

"What?"

"I think we have an audience. Jeevan and Reeya are watching us through the patio doors."

He chuckled. "They probably need another walk." He sighed. There were things he needed to do, too, the more mundane demands of his body plunging him back to reality. He was probably already a bit off schedule. "I...uh, I'm sure it's time for me to, you know..."

"Yeah. I know." She rose up a bit. Her long hair was partially dry and matted on her head, and he resisted the urge to smile. It's not like his hair probably looked any better.

"Also, being in this chlorinated water for so long probably isn't good for your skin. Mine either, for that matter." She gave him a peck on the lips. "I'll get us some towels." She got up and hugged herself with her arms, hunching over. "It's freakin' cold out here without your body heat and the water to keep me warm," she said with a shiver, and sprinted off.

He heard the quiet swish of the electronic patio door behind him as it opened for her and then heard Jeevan and Reeya whimpering impatiently.

TJ came back a few minutes later with a towel wrapped around her, the two retrievers following her with their long, feathery tails wagging in expectation. She'd brought a towel for the seat of Sam's wheelchair and one to dry himself off with. He transferred himself from the ground into his chair and dried off, then covered himself, wrapping the large, white bath sheet around his waist.

There was no need for him to go to the trouble of getting dressed since he needed to cath himself and take a bath to get the chlorine off his skin. The skin below his injury didn't shiver or sweat, so he had to be careful to keep it clean to avoid a bacterial infection. Of course, chlorine was supposed to kill bacteria, but there was no telling what it would do to his overly sensitive skin.

When he reached the bathroom, TJ was dressed and combing through her hair in front of the lady's vanity. "I'm going to take the dogs for a walk before I take a shower, so you can have the bathroom to yourself."

He nodded and eyed the huge Jacuzzi tub, trying to judge how easy it would be to get in and out of it, since the separate shower was off limits without a shower chair. He had a fleeting thought that the shower was so large he could probably roll his chair into it, but he didn't want to hassle with getting his chair wet.

TJ paused in her combing, looking at him in the reflection of the mirror. "You want me to stay in case you want any help?"

He shook his head. "I'll be fine."

There was a little bit of worry in her eyes that she couldn't hide.

"Really. I can handle it." He sounded more confident than he felt.

She nodded and went back to her combing, not looking entirely convinced but not arguing.

After she left, he got out his cath supplies—latex gloves, wet wipes, and clean catheter—and wheeled into the separate, walled off area where the toilet was. His chair barely fit in the small closet-like space, and there certainly wasn't much room to maneuver. He set his supplies on the back of the toilet, removed the towel covering his lower half, and threw it out of his way behind him. Then he tried to visualize how the guy on YouTube had done this.

He locked the brakes on his chair and gripped the side of the toilet seat with one hand and the frame of his chair with the other. He carefully transferred his buttocks to the seat of the toilet, sitting sideways, aware that the hard porcelain of the seat would be much harder on his skin than the padded one at home. He then turned himself around to sit properly, using his hands to move his long legs in the small space.

_Okay. That wasn't so bad_. Of course, it was easier this time because he didn't have clothing to worry about. At home, he had stainless-steel grab bars attached to the wall behind the toilet and the side of his vanity for leverage, but he could make this work.

Once he was done, he transferred back to his chair and pushed himself over to the tub. It was good that it was large and was situated sort of in the middle of the room. It had a thick ledge all around it, so balancing on the side wouldn't be a problem. He got several towels out from the linen cabinet—a couple to sit on in the tub to protect his butt, one for the seat of his chair, and another one to dry himself off.

He transferred from his chair to the ledge of the tub, then gripped the opposite side of the tub with one hand and slowly and carefully lowered his buttocks to the folded towels he'd placed at the back of the tub to sit on. Then he picked up his legs, which were still hanging over the side, and lowered them into the tub.

He was relieved and wondered why he'd been worried about this. Maybe he didn't need all that adaptive stuff after all, didn't need the grab bars. Of course, this tub was easier than most with its wide ledges, not to mention that it was big enough that his long legs didn't have to be scrunched up too much. The narrow side of a normal tub in a place like a hotel wouldn't be as easy to sit on, making his balance more precarious before lowering himself into the tub, but he was pretty sure now it could be done. Correction. He _knew_ now it could be done_, _and it opened up possibilities for travel and visiting TJ's family in Kentucky that he'd thought would be a major hassle before.

He reached for the knob, feeling pretty good about himself. In the second before he gave it a twist to turn on the water, he heard the jingle of a dog collar on the other side of the bathroom door and smiled. "It's okay, Teej. I'm good."

There was a beat of silence and then she cleared her throat. "Um, TJ isn't here. She's out walking the dogs like she's supposed to be, not standing here waiting to see if you bust your ass."

His smile spread into a grin. "Right."

"Sorry." She sounded contrite. "I'll be back after 'while."

"TJ?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

He could hear the smile in her voice. "I love you, too, Sam."

There was the fading sound of collars jingling and TJ walking away as she tried to settle the excited dogs, who knew they were finally about to get their walk. Then he could hear a door opening and closing, and she was gone.

In the silence that followed, he was hit with a sudden, fierce ache, knowing that this time next weekend he wouldn't be with her. He wasn't even sure when he would see her again. They had agreed to play it by ear, see how both their work and classes were going, and plan from there.

It was killing him, but he tried not to show it. TJ was being so strong about it, so supportive. He didn't understand how she could so easily accept that he was leaving. She hardly seemed affected by it at all, like she wouldn't miss him that much.

He twisted the knobs, turning on the water and adjusting the temperature, and pushed the thought away. He was being stupid. He knew TJ loved him. He needed to man up and stop being so emo. If she could do it, so could he.

_**TBC**_

_**Okay, kids. Next chap will be up next Wednesday.  
**_


	3. Chapter 3

**_A/N: Beta'd by Catsluver, sallyloveslinus, and SKZB. They are, of course, the best betas in the universe. Any mistakes are ones I put there right before I posted because I'm OCD. Someone just needs to slap my hand away from the computer and tell me to STOP EDITING! :)_  
**

**_Also, don't forget that I will be posting EVERY Wednesday unless I tell you guys something different. Thanks for reading!  
_**

**Chapter 3**

**Mid-September 2009**

Sam pushed himself toward the break room of Mauze, Mathis & Howell. The prestigious law firm was located in an old house that had been converted to offices in west Berkeley. Sam was on his way to report to his boss, Parker Bankler. It was the beginning of the third week of September, four weeks since he'd started school and three weeks since he'd started clerking for the law firm. He had seen TJ last weekend for the long Labor Day holiday, but he already missed her. At least he would see her again next week when he was off for fall break.

His workloads were unbelievably intense, but it was paying off. He'd gotten an article accepted by the _Berkeley Journal of Criminal Law _to be published in their January 2010 edition_, _and his classes and clerking job were going well. He was working his ass off, hardly sleeping between work and school.

He tried to maintain a healthy diet and stay on schedule for his personal routines, but it was unbelievably hard. It was also hard to make time for yoga, but he killed two birds with one stone by doing his poses while talking to TJ in the evenings. He could talk to her on the speakerphone of his cell during his yoga practice before he went to bed or studied. It wasn't ideal because he didn't get the quiet meditation time that was so beneficial to his mindset, but at least he kept up his strength and stretched his muscles, which helped tremendously with spasticity and pain in his legs. And, of course, talking to TJ always cheered him up.

As he approached the door to the break room, he heard Leland Mauze, one of the founders of the firm, talking to Parker. Parker was a nice guy and a good attorney who worked like a slave trying to make partner. Leland, on the other hand, was the typical arrogant, overbearing type of lawyer in his sixties that gave lawyers a bad name. Sam hadn't liked him from the get-go. There was no other way to say it. Leland was the very definition of the word "dick."

There was the sound of coffee being poured into a mug and then Leland's booming voice. "How's that cripple been working out, Parker?"

Sam didn't want to eavesdrop, but how could he ignore that? Leland's voice was the kind that carried, and he was obviously referring to Sam. Sam wasn't aware of anyone else in the office that had a disability—at least, not one as obvious as his.

He stopped in the hallway and tried to keep his emotions in check. He normally ignored it when people called him a cripple, although, when he'd first been injured, he had hated the word. However, he realized now that most people who used it did so because they weren't aware of what the politically correct term was, and he didn't take offense.

It wasn't the word itself that annoyed him. "Cripple," "handicapped," "disabled," "paraplegic"—they all meant pretty much the same thing, the way he saw it. It didn't matter which one was considered PC for the moment. It was being labeled, the changing of his identity, that he didn't like; but he'd come to terms with it. Like it or not, in some ways he _wasn't_ the same person he was before his injury, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. It certainly didn't make him a lesser man. Leland hadn't used the word "cripple" out of ignorance, though. He was just being a jerk.

"Are you talking about Sam?" There was a tone of disbelief and disapproval in Parker's voice that Sam appreciated.

"Yeah," Leland answered, oblivious to the fact that he'd offended Parker. "The one that was sent here by the work-study program at Berkeley. Goddamn affirmative action. Do we get any tax breaks or anything for employing him?"

There was a long silence before Parker spoke. "Sir, Sam is a sharp guy and a hard worker. He's only been in school a month, and I've already had him writing a few briefs. In fact, I made an exception and chose him over other applicants because I was so impressed with his interview. Berkeley itself usually doesn't even recommend a first-year student in their first semester for work study because, most of the time, they want them focusing on class. He was an exception to the rule."

"Oh, come on, Bankler. You can't tell me his handicap wasn't the reason he got into Berkeley and probably why they sent him over here. I'm sure they have a quota for cripples just like they do for ethnic minorities. Pisses me off, you know? It ought to be based on merit, not what color you are or the fact you can't walk. Damn ADA and NAACP. Bunch of whiners, is what they are."

Sam rolled his eyes and exhaled. It was people like Leland that were the reason those organizations had been formed. Sam hated shit like this. It was always the wheelchair people saw first and the person in it second. He was used to it for the most part, but sometimes it hit him like a punch in the jaw.

Parker cleared his throat. His tone was respectful, but there was an undercurrent of subtle sarcasm. "It could be he was accepted to Berkeley because he scored a 174 on the LSAT. Or maybe it was because he had a 3.9 GPA as an undergrad. By the way, most of his undergrad was at Stanford."

Leland made a grunting noise. "Impressive, but you mark my words. He'll probably be out half the time for health problems or crap like that. We're not paying him sick leave, are we?"

"No, sir." Parker's voice was stilted. "He's a part-time employee."

"Good."

Sam decided he'd heard enough. He pushed himself into the break room and gave Leland a respectful nod of acknowledgment, as though he hadn't heard what had been said. "Sir?"

Leland nodded back. "How's it going, Tom?"

Sam clenched his jaw but didn't bother to correct him. "Fine, sir."

Leland levered away from the counter he'd been leaning on. "Well, I better get back to work," he chortled. He patted Sam's shoulder as he passed by. "Welcome to MM&H, son."

Sam kept his expression neutral, not wanting to reflect the fact that he thought Leland Mauze was a complete douche bag. "Thank you."

After Leland was gone, Sam looked up at Parker. "Just wanted to let you know I'm here."

Parker—average height, dark hair, mid-thirties, well-tailored suit—looked embarrassed. "How much of that did you hear?"

Sam shifted his shoulders. "Hear of what?"

Parker was dubious. "Sam—"

"It's Tom."

Parker laughed. "Leland is an ass. I'm sorry."

"It's fine."

Parker opened his mouth like he wanted to say more but then shut it, apparently realizing Sam just wanted to let it go. He nodded and started giving Sam instructions on what he needed to get done that day.

By the time Sam got home that night, he was exhausted. It was late in the evening, and he heated a quick dinner of frozen vegetable lasagna and made a salad. Once he was done with dinner, he changed into his workout clothes—shorts and a T-shirt—and transferred himself to the three thin yoga mats he had stacked together on the floor of the tiny living area to provide him extra padding. He called TJ on his cell and started his yoga practice while he waited for her to answer, trying not to think about the studying he still had to do for his Torts and Criminal Procedure classes.

When she answered, the sound of her voice warmed him from the inside out. "Hey," he said softly.

"_Hay is for horses_," she replied, her voice sounding small and tinny on the speaker.

"So, what are you wearing?" he teased, exhaling loudly as he flowed into a more challenging pose. He always asked her that as a joke.

"_Ooh, it's my favorite creepy phone sex guy_."

He smiled and felt some of the tension from the past couple of days begin to wane. Lately, they hadn't been able to talk every day because of hectic schedules, and they hadn't talked last night. He had missed hearing her voice. It seemed like forever, even though it had only been two days.

"_I'm wearing_," she said, bringing him back to the moment, "_a tight black T-shirt with the sleeves and the midriff cut off, lime-green satin hot pants, and knee-high black socks with fuchsia peace signs. My T-shirt has my roller derby nickname on the back, 'Sammyvore.'_"

"'Sammyvore'?"

"_Yep. I actually liked 'Attila the Honey' or 'Genghis Connie' better, but they were already taken._"

He laughed. "Wow. I didn't realize you were such a roller derby fan."

"_Mm-hm. I think Sammyvore fits me, though, because I'm gonna devour you next time I see you._"

"Ah, I like it. But next time we get together, don't forget the elbow and knee pads."

She gave a little giggle, then yawned in the background, the release of her breath slow and sounding sleepy. "_So, what are _you_ wearing_?"

"Uh, a silver Members Only jacket, Patrick Swayze's pleated white pants from _Roadhouse_ pulled up high on my waist, and Judd Nelson's boots from _The Breakfast Club._"

She giggled again. "_Mercy. You really know how to turn a girl on._"

"I try," he said with a grin. He shifted into _Warrior I_ pose, which looked something like a lunge. Using his hand, he placed his left leg forward, thigh parallel to the floor, sole of his foot flat on the mats, and placed his right knee behind him on the floor, shin flat on the mats. His right palm was on the mats to help maintain his balance, but his legs were actually holding up his body in this pose. It was something he never would have believed he could do if his yoga teacher hadn't shown him. He slowly raised his left arm, making the pose more challenging and working on his balance. "So, tell me what you did today."

She didn't answer.

He glanced at his phone, wondering why she wasn't talking. "Teej, you still there?"

"_What?_"she said sleepily.

"Are you okay?"

"_Yeah. I'm fine_." Something wasn't right about her voice.

He lost his balance and braced himself, palms on the mat. "Are you sure?"

"_Just tired, I guess. Gretchen and Ralph were here last night and stayed late._"

"Here" was her apartment. She had moved back into it after Sam left for Berkeley. She'd felt weird about living with Dean without Sam there and didn't think her parents would approve. Her parents were all for flouting convention in some ways and old-fashioned in others.

"Ralph was there?" He tried to keep his tone even, tried not to be jealous.

"_And Gretchen,"_ she reiterated. "_They came over and we watched a movie. I think they have the hots for each other._ _We've all been hanging out lately._"

"Really?" He wondered just how much they'd been hanging out.

"_I think they're using me as a sort of mediator or chaperone or something. I told Ralph he should just man up and ask her out, but he keeps hesitating."_

Sam didn't like the sound of that and wondered just exactly what was making Ralph hesitate. He hated that Ralph lived so close to TJ, in the apartment just below her. It hammered home the fact that Sam lived five hundred miles away.

There was a time that something romantic might have developed between TJ and Ralph. If Sam hadn't told her his true feelings on the night of what was supposed to be her first date with the blond frat boy, things might have turned out a lot differently.

"_Sam, you still there?"_

"Uh, yeah. I'm here."

"_Why are you being so quiet?_"

He almost shrugged but realized she couldn't see it. He had been distracted and had stopped his yoga, so he forced himself to pay attention and flowed into another pose. "Sorry," he finally said.

There was a slight pause. "_You know there's nothing going on with Ralph and me, right? I mean, I have no feelings whatsoever for him other than friendship."_

"Maybe it's not _your_ feelings I'm worried about."

He could almost hear her eye roll. "_He doesn't feel that way about me, either, Sam."_

"Right." He was skeptical.

"_He knows you're the one I love and always have."_ Her tone was quiet and a little reproachful, as if she shouldn't have to say that.

Sam sighed. "I know. I'm sorry. It's just that I'm really missing you."

"_I know. Me, too._" There was a beat of silence, and then her voice sounded more chipper. "_So, tell me what _you_ did today._"

He told her about some of the more interesting discussions in his classes and the people in his small study group. He'd made several friends. Berkeley had a different method than most law schools and encouraged more camaraderie and less competition among its students. It created an environment that was more conducive to learning and less stressful, although the workload was still grueling.

"_What about work?_"

He thought about the remarks he'd overheard from Leland. He didn't want to talk about it. "Work's fine."

There was a pause. "_Are you sure?_"

She was always so intuitive where he was concerned, could almost always tell by his voice when something was wrong. Still, he didn't feel like getting into it. "Yeah. Everything's fine. Parker's a decent guy."

She didn't say anything.

"So, you never told me about your day," he said, diverting the conversation from himself.

"_Not much to tell. I spent most of the day in the lab with Dr. Rostom. Did you walk with your braces today?_"

He paused, knowing she wasn't going to approve. "Uh, no."

She exhaled an exasperated breath. "_Sam, how long has it been?_"

"I know. I'll wear them all week when I'm home for break."

"_Promise?_"

"Yeah. I promise."

"_'Kay. I think I'm gonna have to go. I'm so tired._"

"Okay. I'll see you in a few days."

"_I'm counting the minutes. Goodnight._ _I love you._"

He closed his eyes, wishing with all his soul he was there to kiss her and hold her in his arms. "I love you, too, Teej. Goodnight."

**XXXXXXXX**

Sam frowned, not liking how TJ sounded.

It was a week and a half after his return to Berkeley from fall break, and he was having a hard time engaging her in conversation on their nightly (for the most part) phone call. "TJ, are you okay? You're not saying much."

"_Yeah._ _I'm fine. Just tired._"

He was instantly concerned. He paused in his yoga practice, too distracted to continue.

It had been great spending fall break with her, but he didn't like that she had lost weight and was tired a lot. Her appetite had been almost nonexistent, but she had chalked it up to a cold. The fatigue seemed to be a part of every conversation with her now, but she always brushed it off when he said something about it. "Are you gonna go to a doctor?" he prodded.

She huffed like that was silly. "_Because I'm tired? No. I've just been workin' my ass off._"

"You weren't a hundred percent when I was there for break, and you don't seem any better. I really think you need to see a doctor."

She sounded annoyed. "_It's not a big deal."_

"TJ, if you're sick—"

"_I'm not sick._" She sounded defensive.

He wondered if her lack of appetite while he'd been home for break was a sign of something more sinister. He didn't want to think it, but what if the bulimia and anorexia were rearing their ugly heads? "TJ, have—have you been eating enough?"

There was a heavy pause. "_What exactly are you asking me, Sam?_" Her tone was neutral, but he sensed that she wasn't happy with him for asking that.

"I'm sorry. It's just..." He trailed off, not knowing how to broach the subject without pissing her off.

"_Just what?_"

He exhaled. "It's just that I could see when I was home that you had lost weight, and you were so tired. Obviously, you still are. It's—the symptoms—I—"

"_You're afraid I'm starving myself or that I'm making myself barf._"

He didn't want to blatantly admit it, so he didn't answer.

"_I swear to you, I'm not starving or purging. I've got it under control. You know that. Caitlin wouldn't have released me from therapy if she didn't think I was better." _

Caitlin was TJ's counselor for what TJ called her "ED," her eating disorder. TJ had been in therapy with Caitlin for over a year—diagnosed as bulimic with anorexic tendencies—and had been released from Caitlin's care during the summer. However, it wasn't out of the question that TJ could regress. After all, it had happened before. She had fooled everyone after her first bout with bulimia and anorexia. A different counselor had released her that time too. TJ eventually relapsed and almost died from a ruptured esophagus as a result of violent vomiting.

It was a sensitive issue with her, and he needed to be careful what he said. More than anything, he knew it was important to her that he trusted her. She hated it when people were suspicious and treated her like a mental case. He wanted to believe her, but, at the same time, he knew how the disorder could distort things in her mind. She could convince herself that she was fine, that starving herself or purging wasn't wrong, and he knew the lengths she might go to in order to hide it.

"_What the hell, Sam? Are you still there?_"

"Yeah. I'm here."

"_I'm not—_" She stopped abruptly, sounding angry, and exhaled a harsh breath. When she spoke again, she sounded defeated. "_It's not the ED."_

He hated that he had put that tone in her voice and tried to explain. "It's just—you looked thinner when I saw you last week, and you didn't eat very much. And you were so drained of energy. I'm sorry. It's—I worry sometimes. I don't want anything to happen to you." He paused, feeling uncomfortable, not sure he should say what he was about to say. "That's, you know, how it started before."

She was silent, but he thought he could hear her breath hitch, like she was maybe on the verge of tears, if she wasn't crying already. He felt like a dick for upsetting her. "Please, TJ. I trust you. If you tell me it's not the ED, then it's not the ED. I believe you."

"_It's not the ED. I made a promise to you. Remember?_"

"Yeah. I remember."

She had promised him that she would always tell him if she was struggling with the bulimia, that she would tell either him or Caitlin if she started wanting to starve or purge again.

"So, if you're not better by next week, will you go see a doctor? If it's not the ED, don't you think you should make sure nothing else is wrong?"

She gave a long sigh. "_Yeah. I guess._"

"I love you, TJ."

She didn't reply.

"Teej?"

"_Goodnight, Sam." _The line clicked, and she was gone.

**XXXXXXXX**

Sam was using a desk in the library of MM&H to do his work, researching obscure precedents on his laptop, hoping to find something online that would help Parker in his latest case. If he couldn't find anything online, he'd have to do it the old-fashioned way, going through books, old court records, or making a trip to the Berkeley law library.

He arched his back over the backrest of his chair and pressed his palms into his seat, lifting his buttocks a bit to do a pressure release. It was four in the afternoon. Between class and work, he'd been in his chair for eight hours and still had another couple of hours before he was done and could head to his apartment. He wouldn't blow off walking in his braces tonight. He hadn't been doing it enough lately, and if he wasn't careful, his upper-body strength and stamina would suffer.

He rolled his neck from side to side, trying to ease some of the tension out of it, and was about to get back to his research when his cell phone rang. It was Dean. They talked several times a week, so Sam didn't think anything of it as he hit the talk button. "Hey, man. What's up?"

Dean got right to the point. "_Sam? Have you noticed anything weird about TJ lately? She sound okay when you talk to her on the phone?_"

A ball of dread formed in Sam's stomach and slowly seeped outward. "I—uh, what do you mean?"

"_I went home for a late lunch today,_ _and I ran into her when she was at the apartment to let Rocket out. I hadn't seen her since you were here for your __break. Sam, she's lost more weight, and..._"

Sam swallowed. "And what?" he prompted.

"_When I first came in, I heard her in my bathroom. Look, I might be wrong, but it sounded like gagging sounds, and when she stepped out into the hallway, her face was blotchy and her eyes were watery. She seemed kind of nervous when she saw I was there." _

Sam slowly closed his eyes, his heart sinking like a stone. He didn't want it to be the bulimia. She had worked so hard, had been doing so well. He had begun to think she'd really beaten it.

"_I'm sorry, man._"

"Fuck," Sam muttered to himself.

"_You, uh, want me to maybe have a talk with her?_" Dean sounded like he'd rather eat dirt.

If Sam hadn't felt so heartsick, he might have smiled at the fact that Dean was willing to risk having a talk with what was more than likely going to be an extremely pissed off TJ about a really awkward, touchy subject. "Thanks for the offer, but no. I'm gonna check flights. I'm coming home."

**XXXXXXXX**

Dean picked Sam up from the airport, and they were in the Impala on their way to the apartment. After Dean's call earlier in the day, Sam had booked an outrageously expensive last-minute flight on Delta. He'd almost been tempted to charge it the "Winchester way" on a fake card, but his conscience wouldn't let him do it. He'd charged the flight on his legitimate credit card and figured it would cost him twice as much once he finally paid it off with the exorbitant interest the credit card bank charged.

He'd called Parker to let him know that he would have to miss a few days. He hated to do it, especially after what he'd overheard Leland say about how he would probably call in sick a lot because of his disability, but TJ needed him. He'd be damned if he was gonna sit on his ass five hundred miles away. He told Parker it was a family emergency but didn't give an explanation, and Parker didn't ask for one.

Parker was understanding and suggested that Sam could work remotely if he wanted to. Since Sam didn't get paid for sick leave and didn't know how long he'd be gone, he had readily agreed. It would be a huge help if he didn't have to go those days with no pay.

His flight had landed just after eleven, and his first time to travel by air as a wheelchair user had been uneventful. Luckily, the booking agent advised him to get a window seat so that the other passengers on his row wouldn't have to climb over him to get up. His knees were cramped in the small space, but since he couldn't feel them, comfort wasn't an issue. However, he had to check them periodically to make sure they weren't pressing too hard into the seat in front of him. He had to constantly be on the lookout for anything that might cause a pressure sore.

The only part he hadn't liked was having to gate-check his wheelchair and ride down the rest of the Jetway in the specially-made, extremely narrow wheelchair that would fit down the aisle of the plane. He was irritated by the fact that the flight attendant had insisted he buckle the seat belt on it and that he had to be pushed by someone else because there were no hand rims. Plus, he'd felt a bit like a clown riding a tricycle, folding his large frame into the chair that was obviously made for a much smaller person.

Next time, he would still use his wheelchair most of the time but wear his braces. That way, he could just walk onto the plane and avoid the aisle chair altogether, plus he'd have his crutches and braces for wherever he was going and wouldn't have to worry about packing them. He kicked himself for not thinking of that. He had packed hastily and thought the braces and crutches would be a hassle.

Dean glanced over at him. "So, Heather got TJ to come over to our apartment under the pretense of watching a chick flick. You won't have to deal with trying to get up the stairs to TJ's apartment."

"Good. She suspect anything?"

"I don't think so. She didn't act like she thought anything was up."

Sam nodded and looked out the passenger window. He hadn't wanted Dean to tell TJ he was coming. He was afraid she would be upset and try to talk him out of it if she'd known, and he wanted to see her for himself and talk to her in person about what was going on. He was looking forward to seeing her, to surprising her even, but he dreaded the conversation that would follow.

Dean broke into his thoughts. "She seemed glad to come hang out, said she didn't have that much studying to do. Maybe she's a little lonely at her apartment, you know?"

Sam snorted. "I doubt it."

One of Dean's brows curved upward. "Why do you say that?"

Sam shrugged, wishing he hadn't said anything. "Nothing. It's just that I think she hangs out with Gretchen and Ralph a lot."

"Ralph, huh? Do I detect a little jealousy, Sammy?"

"No," he lied. "She says Gretchen and Ralph have a thing for each other. They're using her as the matchmaker."

"Uh-huh." Dean sounded skeptical.

"Shut up, Dean."

Dean's expression was innocent. "I didn't say anything."

Sam looked out the window again, annoyed.

"I'm just kiddin'. Like TJ would ever cheat on you."

Sam gritted his teeth.

"Although, you do live eight hours away..."

"Shut up, Dean."

Dean waggled his brows and smirked. Sam ignored him.

A few minutes of silence went by, and when Dean spoke again, he was more serious. "I'm glad you're home, but I'm sorry it's because of this."

Sam felt his stomach knot at the reminder that he wasn't home for a holiday. "Yeah. Me, too."

Shortly after that, they were at the apartment. When Sam pushed himself through the front door into the dim interior, he immediately saw TJ curled up on the sofa sound asleep, motley hues of color flashing across her face from changing scenes on the television's flat screen. His heart swelled at the sight of her. She looked so innocent, so at peace.

Rocket bounded over to him and leaped up onto his lap, tail wagging so hard his entire body shook, bathing Sam's face in wet dog kisses.

"Hey, boy," Sam whispered, laughing a little at Rocket's exuberance and trying to get his face away from the slobbery licks. He grabbed the scruff of Rocket's neck and gave it an affectionate squeeze before scratching the dog's chest and his floppy, Labrador ears.

Heather got up from the hideous, mauve-plaid recliner that sat near the sofa, a fossil from the '80s that was part of the living room furniture Dean and Sam had gotten secondhand. She switched off the TV and set the remote on the coffee table, then headed toward Sam.

He gave Rocket another pat and nudged his rump. "Rocket, off." He kept his voice low so as not to wake TJ. Rocket reluctantly did as he was told but stayed near Sam, his tail wagging hopefully.

Heather approached Sam and leaned down to give him a welcoming hug. "Hey, Sam," she said with her usual shy, sort of crooked smile, voice hushed. "It's good to see you."

He returned her smile, genuinely glad to see her. "You, too."

Dean put a hand on Sam's shoulder. "I'll put your bags in your room."

"Thanks."

Dean nodded and disappeared down the hallway.

Heather bent her knees and crouched to more or less eye level with Sam. He was actually looking down at her a little bit now, which was a rare thing. She was holding onto one of the push handles on the back of his chair for balance. He didn't like when strangers did that, but Heather was a good friend and knew not to do anything that would throw him off kilter.

Even in the feeble light from the lone table lamp in the room, her eyes were a startling color of light blue. She tucked her coppery hair back behind her ear and gave a fond glance at TJ. "She fell asleep about ten minutes into the movie. She's been out like that for about three hours."

Sam studied TJ's sleeping form with worry. That wasn't like her. She never fell asleep during a movie, no matter how bad or boring it was or how tired she was. It was a pet peeve of hers when people did that, and she would poke him in the ribs to wake him up if he started to fall asleep.

Heather smiled with sympathy, like she had an idea of what he was thinking. "Well, I'll let you have some time alone with her." She gave his shoulder a parting squeeze and left the room.

Sam pushed himself over to the sofa, getting as close to TJ as his chair would allow, careful not to bump the end of the coffee table. He had the type of chair that had a footplate that didn't stick out, that kept his feet tucked closer in and more out of the way, but he still had to watch that he didn't ram them into anything.

TJ's head was lying on a throw pillow on the arm of the couch. He leaned forward, resting one forearm on his knee and reaching out with his other hand to brush back a few stray strands of her dark hair from her face.

Rocket seemed to sense that he'd been upstaged by TJ and crawled under the coffee table, giving a disgruntled snort as he got settled. Sam smiled and then focused his attention back on TJ.

Her hair was like fine silk and was always escaping from its ponytail. He wondered why she even bothered to put it up. It looked good down, sort of framed her face. In fact, she wore it down a lot when she was helping to teach a class with Dr. Rostom, but she always wore it in a ponytail when she was lounging around or wanted to be more casual.

She was lying on her side, one hand supporting her head under the pillow and one hand in a relaxed fist under her chin. Her long legs were curled up so that her bare feet wouldn't hang off the end.

God, how he loved her and how he'd missed her. He traced her nose with his finger. "Teej?"

She scrunched her nose like she had an itch, temporarily causing her freckles to be displaced.

He chuckled softly. "Teej, wake up."

She flattened her hand out so that her palm was flat against the fake leather of the sofa, and he rubbed her knuckles with his thumb. She smiled faintly but was still obviously asleep, like she was having a good dream.

"Wake up, Joy."

She frowned a little at that, which amused him. She really hated it when he used her middle name. She made a little moaning noise of protest, still not awake.

"TJ, wake up." Obviously being gentle wasn't doing the trick, so he shook her shoulder and spoke louder. "It's me, Sam. I'm here."

She inhaled a deep breath that was heavy with sleep and opened her eyes, squinting at him. "Sam?" Her voice was groggy with a note of doubt.

"Hey," he said with a smile.

She rubbed her eyes and blinked. "I'm dreamin', right?" She drawled out the word "right," her Kentucky accent coming through.

He shook his head. "Uh-uh."

She rose up a little, bracing herself with her elbow. A grin of delight spread across her features, but then it faded and her expression morphed into one of confusion. "What...what are you doin' here?"

"Oh, you want me to go?" he teased. He gripped his wheels like he was about to swivel his chair around and leave.

Her hand shot out and grabbed the frame of his chair, stopping him. "Not so fast, Bubba. Of course I don't want you to go."

"Good. I was hoping you'd let me stay awhile."

Her eyes settled on his face, wry humor in them. "That depends on why you're here."

"I came to see you," he said quietly.

She sat up all the way, her expression wary. "But—but why? It's a Wednesday. You're gonna miss class and work."

"Scoot over."

She wiped more sleep from her eyes and slid over, making room for him. He transferred easily onto the sofa, not even bothering to lock the brakes on his chair, and put his arm around her. With his other hand, he cupped her chin and pressed his lips to hers. She curled her hand into his button-down shirt.

He kept the kiss gentle, tasting her slowly and savoring it. They lingered that way until, finally, he pulled away a fraction to look into her eyes.

She was troubled, despite the tender kiss they'd just shared. She frowned and lowered her gaze.

He knew in that moment that she had a pretty good idea why he had come. He drew in a breath, inhaling the flower-and-mint scent of her hair, and hugged her close. She laid her head on his shoulder and he rested his chin on the top of her head. Neither one of them spoke for several minutes.

She was the first to break the silence, her voice barely audible. "It was Dean, wasn't it?"

He was hesitant to admit it. He didn't want her to be mad at Dean.

"He called you after he saw me today," she stated. Her tone was strangely flat, devoid of emotion.

"Yeah."

She didn't say anything, but Sam knew she wasn't happy about it.

"Don't hold it against him," said Sam. "He was just looking out for you."

She sighed. "How much did it cost you to fly here?"

"Doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does," she insisted. "It's stupid. I'm fine. He shouldn't have called you."

Sam kept quiet. He didn't think arguing with her would get him anywhere, and, besides, he figured his silence let her know he disagreed.

"You're in the middle of the semester, Sam. Your first year of law school. You shouldn't be missing class."

"I'll catch up. It's mostly reading."

She huffed. "What about work?"

"I can do a lot of it from my laptop. It's fine."

"Did you tell your boss that your loony girlfriend went off the deep end again?" She sounded bitter.

"No. Just that I had a family emergency."

"I'm not an emergency."

He waited a moment before answering. "No. You're my life."

She made a noise that was part sob, part frustrated laugh, and gripped his shirt tighter. "No fair. I'm really, really ticked off right now. You don't get to say sweet things that turn me to mush."

He kissed the top of her head and idly stroked her arm with his fingertips. She was quiet for a long time, but he was patient, knowing she would talk to him when she was ready.

"It's not the bulimia," she finally said. She let the declaration hover in the air between them, as if daring him to challenge her. When he didn't, she went on. "But Dean was right. He did hear me throwing up."

Sam felt a jolt of sickening fear at her admission and wrapped his other arm around her, almost crushing her to him, wanting to protect her with everything he had. But how did he fight something that was invisible, that couldn't be touched? He exhaled slowly and tried to keep any judgment out of his voice, tried to be gentle. "If it's not the bulimia, why would you make yourself throw up?"

She gave a derisive huff. "I didn't."

"I don't get it."

She let out a shaky breath, like she was trying to keep from crying. "Something's wrong with me, Sam."

He didn't like how fragile she sounded, how afraid. "What do you mean?"

"It's not the eating disorder," she reiterated, "but I feel nauseous all the time and I've kind of been throwing up a lot. Everything makes me sick, even my favorite foods. I keep losing weight, but I swear I'm not trying to.

"I keep getting headaches, and I'm so tired all the time. Every minute of the day, I am utterly exhausted, even though I sleep sometimes ten or eleven hours at night. Sometimes I fall asleep at nine and don't wake up until seven or eight the next morning. I've been blowing off some of my classwork because I'm just too tired, and I know I've been doing a crappy job for Dr. Rostom. He's just too nice to say anything, at least not yet."

Sam didn't like what he was hearing, but he couldn't help the relief he felt that it wasn't the bulimia. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want you to worry, and I kept thinking it would go away. I thought maybe I had the flu or something or that I was pushing myself too hard with school and work, but..."

"But what?"

She was hesitant. "Don't get mad."

"Why would I get mad?"

"Because it's been going on for a while now."

She was right. It made him mad that she hadn't told him, but he tried to keep it from his voice. "TJ, I thought we agreed we weren't gonna hide things like this from each other."

"I know, and I'm sorry. It's just weird. It's gradually gotten worse, and I really thought it would go away. I didn't think it was really a big deal until recently."

He exhaled a long breath.

"I was afraid if I told you, you'd overreact." Her tone turned ironic. "Like get on a last-minute flight that probably cost you an arm and a leg and fly here in the middle of the week."

"I didn't overreact. You need to see a doctor, TJ."

She was quiet for a second, and when she spoke, her voice was filled with emotion. "I'm scared, Sam. I've researched my symptoms on Google. It could be anything from chronic fatigue syndrome to a brain tumor or stomach cancer. None of it good."

"We need to know what we're dealing with. You've got to see a doctor. What if it's something that can be easily cured if we catch it early enough? Maybe it can be treated with something simple, like a change in diet."

She leaned her head back and looked up at him, a large tear rolling down her cheek. "What if I'm dying, Sam? What if I finally have everything I've ever wanted in life, and now I'm dying?"

He knew she was genuinely distraught and felt bad for her, but he couldn't help but be slightly amused at how dramatic she sounded. "You're not dying, TJ. Those symptoms are pretty general. They could be a sign of a lot of other things."

She nudged his shoulder in an admonishing gesture. "It's not funny."

"I know."

"I can still see your dimples," she accused petulantly.

He chuckled softly and brushed away a strand of hair that was stuck to her damp cheek. "You're going to call first thing in the morning and make an appointment. We'll find out what we're dealing with and fix it. Okay?"

"'Kay."

He kissed her forehead, but when he drew back, he saw that she was still terrified. "TJ—"

"I love you so much, Sam." Her words tumbled out in a rush. "I don't wanna die now. I don't wanna leave you."

He locked eyes with her, making sure he had her full attention. "Listen to me. You are not dying. Do you hear me?"

She sniffed and lowered her eyes, nodding.

He drew her into a hug, gently pressing her head over his heart and combing his fingers through her hair. She wasn't dying. That was impossible. She was just freaking out, fearing the worst because she hated doctors as much as he and Dean did.

He tried not to think about all the people in his life he'd lost for one reason or another. Winchesters seemed to be cursed (himself in particular), and it rubbed off on anyone associated with them.

But, no. He was done with all that. He'd broken that curse when he killed Yellow Eyes. He wouldn't lose TJ. She would be fine, and he refused to believe anything else.

_**TBC**_


	4. Chapter 4

**_A/N: First, let me thank my awesome betas skzb, catsluver, and sallyloveslinus. You guys make this story SO much better._  
**

**_Second, I forgot to say in the beginning that I am not an expert on basically anything I've written about or will write about in this story. I have researched online as much as I could, and my super smart betas have helped with the medical stuff, but I apologize for any inaccuracies or mistakes. Please know that I try to keep it as real as possible.  
_**

**_Third, I want to say thanks to everyone for reading, and in case you're wondering what the events in the story so far have to do with the summary description, I promise we will eventually get there. This is going to be a long fic, as long as or even longer than Redefining Joy, so hang in there! (I know some of you have been wondering, "What the heck?") With the word limits on the summaries, it was hard for me to put everything in it, so I just put the part I thought was most compelling. :)_**

**Chapter 4**

The door of the waiting room opened, and a nurse in navy scrubs with butterflies and flowers printed all over them stuck her head in. "Sam? Sam Winchester?"

Sam maneuvered his chair away from the cramped space at the wall where he'd managed to park himself as much out of the way as possible. He was in the waiting room of the SDSU Student Health Services clinic. It was Friday, two days after he'd come home to find out that TJ was sick, and he'd managed to get her an appointment to see a doctor early this morning. He made the appointment for her because even after their conversation and her admission that she needed to see a doctor, she still procrastinated and stalled until he had finally just done it himself.

She'd been in there for an hour. He had been aimlessly staring at the same _People_ magazine for most of that time, unable to concentrate on any of the articles. As much as he'd been reassuring her that she would be okay, he was suddenly afraid. All kinds of horrible scenarios of what could be wrong kept running through his mind.

She wasn't the only one that had Googled her symptoms. He was a master at research, and he didn't like what he found. There were at least 161 diseases or conditions that matched her symptoms, some more severe than others. Some were terrifying. He'd been through every one of them in his head in the last hour, his fear growing with each minute that he waited. He could see now why TJ had gotten herself so worked up.

When he made it to the door, the nurse smiled politely and held it open for him. "Right through here."

He pushed himself through and then waited for her to show him where to go. A turn of a corner and a few doors down a sterile-looking hallway later, he found TJ sitting in what looked like a doctor's actual office, not an exam room. There was a dark, wood-veneer desk dominating a large portion of the small space. Two tufted leather chairs sat across from the desk, and TJ was in one of them.

The nurse scooted one of the chairs out of the way so Sam could pull up next to TJ. "Dr. Chua will be in to talk with you in just a minute."

"Thanks," Sam murmured. TJ cast her a nervous smile of acknowledgment.

The nurse nodded and left, closing the door behind her.

TJ's shoulders were hunched and she was fidgeting with her nails. Her legs were crossed, one foot bouncing up and down in a nervous rhythm so frenetically it reminded him of how his legs sometimes spasmed. Her hair was in a ponytail and she was wearing skinny jeans, flip-flops, and one of Sam's hoodies. She looked like a gangly teenager wearing his shirt, which was too big for her. She had taken over most of his hoodies and wore them now instead of her own well-worn sweatshirts.

"Hey," he said. "You okay?"

She shot him a look of annoyance, but its effect was diminished by the smattering of playful freckles dusting her nose and cheekbones. "No, I'm not okay. That's why I'm here."

The corners of his mouth curved upward. "You know what I mean. What did the doctor do?"

She half-shrugged. "Just normal stuff. Took my blood pressure, took a blood sample, looked in my ears and throat, listened to my chest and lungs, took a history. That was fun," she added sarcastically. "It's like being a convict. 'Yes. I have an eating disorder. Yes. I almost died by barfing. No, I'm not starving myself or purging now.'"

"Did he believe you?"

"She."

"Did she believe you?"

"Yeah. I guess. At least, she didn't give me the third degree. She just went on with her questions, asked me about my symptoms." She huffed. "She made me pee in a cup so they could do a pregnancy test."

Sam frowned. "Why?"

"I think it's standard procedure. I had a friend once who came here with walking pneumonia, and they made her take one. It's kinda the joke around campus. Walk into the clinic all bloody with your arm hanging on by a thread, and they'll make you take a pregnancy test."

He laughed a little and tried not to be bitter that pregnancy was the one thing they could rule out for sure. His chances of fathering a child without high-tech, expensive fertility procedures were slim to none.

He and TJ had discussed having kids, and he had made sure she understood the difficulties they would face. She was okay with it. Even thinking about having a baby, however, was a long way away for them. She wanted to finish grad school and get established in her career. He wanted to finish law school and make sure they were financially secure.

She was still fidgeting. Sam reached over and covered her hands with one of his, giving them a squeeze. "Everything will be okay. Stop freaking out." He said it with confidence and hoped he was right.

She drew in a deep breath and blew it out slowly between her lips.

The door to the office opened, and they both turned to see Dr. Chua walk in carrying a patient chart with TJ's name on it. She was a tiny, thin woman with black hair cut in a mid-length bob and almond-shaped eyes, probably of either Chinese or Filipino descent. She seemed young, almost like a child playing doctor with her slightly oversized white coat, especially when she smiled, but a closer look told a different story. A few streaks of gray in her hair and a few fine lines on her face indicated she was older.

"Hello. Hello," she said to each of them, bobbing her head, almost bowing. She hooked her thumb at Sam. "This him?" she said to TJ.

TJ's dread seemed to disappear for a moment and she beamed, obviously proud of him. "Yes. Dr. Chua, this is my fiance, Sam Winchester."

Dr. Chua smiled, and Sam couldn't help but be warmed by TJ's glowing introduction of him. A goofy grin spread across his features of its own volition before he could squelch it.

"Oh, you two got it bad for each other," the doctor said with a humorous shake of her head. She had a faint accent, her r's sounding indistinct and soft. She didn't seem surprised that Sam was in a wheelchair—in fact, she never looked twice at it—so he figured TJ must have told her.

She tucked TJ's chart under her arm and took his hand in both of her tiny ones. "You're gonna have your hands full with this one," she said, jerking her head toward TJ. Dr. Chua was so short she was only a few inches taller than Sam in his wheelchair. "But then," she said with a knowing gleam in her eye, "I'm sure you already figured that out."

He laughed. "Uh, yeah."

TJ rolled her eyes good-naturedly.

Dr. Chua let go of Sam's hand and made her way around to her high-backed chair, which was behind the desk. She dropped TJ's chart down on the cluttered desktop, plopped into the chair that dwarfed her, and looked at TJ. "Okay. I know what's wrong with you."

TJ's eyes widened in surprise. "I thought you said it would take a few days to get the blood work back."

"Don't need it," she replied matter-of-factly. She turned her head a little to one side and gave TJ a calculating look. "You're not married yet. Are you sure you want him to hear this?" she asked, shifting her eyes to indicate Sam.

TJ swallowed thickly and grabbed Sam's hand, gripping it tightly. He could feel the clammy warmth of her skin that underscored how afraid she was. His own heart started to pound.

"Yes," answered TJ. "I want Sam to be here. I want him to hear this."

Dr. Chua steepled her hands and rested her elbows on her desk. "Okay. You're pregnant."

Her abrupt words hung in the air. They were so simple, yet so incredible, that Sam couldn't believe his ears. He was literally struck dumb.

TJ suddenly burst out laughing. "Oh, that's freakin' hilarious!"

The doctor looked perplexed. "What's so funny?"

"Because—you're kiddin', right?" Her drawl was more pronounced. "That's the big joke around campus, you know, that y'all always think everyone is pregnant, no matter what they come in for?" She was still grinning.

Dr. Chua didn't seem to know whether to be offended or chalk it up to TJ being nuts. "Nooooo...I'm not kidding. You're pregnant."

It took a moment for it to sink in with TJ that the doctor was serious, and then the grin dissolved from TJ's face. She and Sam just sat there, neither of them moving a muscle, time standing still. He felt as if all the air had been sucked from the room and they were in a vacuum. He could see that he still held her hand, but he was strangely numb, could hardly feel the warmth of her skin anymore.

TJ had gone so pale that, for a moment, Sam thought she might pass out. She was the first to break the silence. "You're serious." Her voice was barely audible.

Dr. Chua chuckled. "Yep. You're pregnant, with child, got a bun in the oven, knocked up. You want me to say it in Tagalog?"

Sam's mouth had gone dry, and when he swallowed, it felt like he might choke. "That's..." His voice came out hoarse and his tongue wasn't cooperating. "That's not possible," he finally managed to get out.

The doctor arched a delicate brow. "Oh, it's possible. If you're the father, it might not be very likely, but it's possible."

He shook his head. "There must be some mistake."

"Could be, but those pee-stick tests they have these days are pretty accurate, and we did two of them. The blood work will confirm it. We should have those results by tomorrow."

"But maybe..." TJ glanced at Sam, coloring a little. "I mean, I didn't actually pee on them. Maybe they didn't work right."

The doctor rolled her eyes with humor. "Man, you're clueless, aren't you? You don't have to actually pee on it, sweetie. You can dip the stick in a cup, too."

"Oh."

"It fits with the symptoms you're having—the nausea, loss of appetite, the headaches, the fatigue."

TJ frowned. "But I thought nausea just happened in the mornings with pregnancy. I feel sick all the time, like, all day long."

Dr. Chua shook her head. "Nope. One of the many myths about pregnancy. Some women get sick in the morning, some in the evening, some all the time. Looks like you're one of the lucky ones," she said dryly. "If the nausea gets really severe, there is medication for it. Try eating or smelling things with ginger in it. They make ginger lollypops just for this. Apples and saltines might help, too."

TJ sat back in her chair, staring at a vague point on Dr. Chua's desk, appearing to try to comprehend it all. "But I thought you were supposed to gain weight with pregnancy. I thought you were supposed to be cravin' weird stuff like banana-and-mustard sandwiches and pickles."

Dr. Chua chuckled again. "That may come later. The first trimester is the hardest for some. That's when most of the nausea happens, and a lot of women actually lose weight in those first three months. That's also when a lot of the fatigue happens, although it will probably come back in the last trimester. You might lose your appetite then too, when the baby gets so big it squishes your stomach, makes you feel full faster."

Sam sat in silence, hearing their conversation but none of it really registering. He was utterly shocked and still couldn't believe it. There was a tightness developing behind his eyes and he pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

Dr. Chua sounded amused. "You okay there, Daddio? You look like you're about to faint."

TJ squeezed his hand, a concerned look on her face.

"I—uh, yeah. I'm fine," he answered.

The doctor gave him a crooked smirk and then turned back to TJ. "Okay. Any idea how far along you could be? Do you know when you might have conceived?"

"I have no idea," said TJ, shaking her head a little. She glanced at Sam and her ears turned pink again. "My, um, cycle isn't very regular."

Dr. Chua nodded in understanding. "First thing you need to do is find a good obstetrician and find out what the gestational age of your baby is. Do you have one here?"

TJ shook her head. "No. I usually go to my doctor in Kentucky for annual checkups whenever I'm home for breaks from school."

Dr. Chua nodded. "Okay. He or she might be able to give you a recommendation, or I can give you some names, too."

"Thanks. That'd be great."

"Don't wait. You don't want your nausea to go untreated. You need lots of nutrients for that baby. You also have low blood pressure, which could be dangerous and needs to be monitored."

TJ looked surprised. "Low blood pressure?"

Sam didn't like the sound of that. He felt some of the numbness start to wear off, replaced with concern.

"Don't worry," the doctor reassured. "In most cases it's nothing major, but you don't want to ignore it, either. It could be a sign of hyperemesis gravidarum, which means, basically, puking your guts out when you're pregnant."

TJ nodded, brows drawn together. Sam knew he should be asking questions, but he couldn't get his shocked brain to work properly.

"You need to get some prenatal vitamins, like, now," the doctor informed. "Get them at a drugstore on your way home."

"Okay," said TJ.

"Any questions?"

TJ caught Sam's eye and raised her brows. He couldn't make his tongue work to speak and shook his head no. She shifted her gaze back to the doctor. "I'm sure there's a ton of things we should ask, but I think we're both kind of shell-shocked."

Dr. Chua gave a short nod and smiled. "I can see that. Okay," she said in dismissal. "Good luck and congratulations. I'll get my nurse to get those names of the obstetricians for you."

TJ gave her a grateful smile. "Thank you."

The doctor rose from her desk and headed for the door. At the last minute, she turned to look at them one more time. "Get those vitamins," she repeated. Then she nodded toward Sam. "And get him some Daddy's Little Helper."

TJ laughed cautiously. "What's that?"

Dr. Chua pantomimed taking a swig from a flask and winked, then disappeared out the door.

**XXXXXXXX**

TJ was full of excitement, talking nonstop on the way home. They were in her car and she was driving, since Sam's car was still at Berkeley.

Sam caught snippets of what she said. "_Thank God I'm not dying...Oh, my goodness. We have to move up the wedding date...No, wait. We have to _set_ a wedding date...good obstetrician...wonder how far along I am...Fern and Vern are gonna freak..."_

He hardly comprehended any of it. He was still stunned, but it was beginning to wear off, and now the questions and doubts had started to set in. How had this happened? Okay. He knew _how_ it had happened, but how was it possible? He couldn't ejaculate. He never had in all the times he and TJ had made love. And even if he did without either of them knowing it, his sperm would be fewer in number and most likely have limited motility. The chances of him getting her pregnant were one in a billion. Dr. Chua's words haunted him. _"If you're the father..." _

_If_ he was the father.

Thoughts of Ralph and TJ hanging out came to mind. Gretchen had supposedly been there, but what if she'd left early or something? _Stop it, _he told himself. There was no way TJ would have cheated on him.

Was there?

No. It was obvious that she loved him. He was being stupid. This was a miracle, right? But since when did miracles ever happen to him?

TJ had been so accepting, so strong about him leaving for Berkeley. It seemed so easy for her to adjust to it, while he missed her with every fiber of his being and had fought a terrible homesickness since the minute he'd left. Maybe Ralph had been there to console her, to alleviate some of her loneliness.

_Stop! _he shouted at himself. TJ wouldn't cheat on him. For one thing, they were engaged. He knew how much that meant to her, knew she didn't take that commitment lightly. But what if he was wrong? What if he didn't really know her at all? He wouldn't be the first guy in history to be cuckolded.

He was being irrational. After everything they'd been through, all the hell last year with Yellow Eyes, how could he doubt her? She'd always been there for him. She had been his best friend before he'd realized he was in love with her, and she had never done anything to make him think she wasn't absolutely head-over-heels in love with him.

Except get pregnant.

He went back to his first question. How could this have happened? When? Was it a miracle, or was something more sinister at work? Was his demon blood somehow coming into play? Icy fingers of fear spread through him, chilling his body. If the baby was his...

_Dammit! Stop it. _The baby had to be his. And if it was, what if he'd passed his demon blood and the curse that went with it on to his child—to his and TJ's child? He closed his eyes and swallowed hard, suddenly feeling like all the blood was draining from his body. He wished it would. At least then all the demon blood would finally be gone.

He'd never told her. She had no idea. He was so ashamed of it. It was the one secret he'd never told her because he thought it didn't matter. He wasn't supposed to be able to father a child, but if the baby was his—God, he had to stop thinking like that. But if the baby was his, he hoped that whatever Azazel did to _him _as a baby, whatever evil the demon tainted him with, died when he killed Azazel with the Colt.

But what if it didn't die with Azazel? The repercussions could be disastrous.

He shifted his gaze to TJ. She was still chattering and hadn't stopped smiling since they got in the car. How was he supposed to tell her that she could possibly be carrying Rosemary's Baby? The thought made him ill.

He inhaled a deep breath and tried to calm himself down. First, they needed to find out how far along she was and confirm he was the father. He hated himself for even thinking that, but it was true. Then he could deal with the fallout either way.

He worked his neck from side to side, trying to release some of the tension in his shoulders. What a fucking mess. Part of him actually hoped that he wasn't the father, that there could be no chance this innocent baby would carry his horrible curse. But the other part of him felt a sickening rage at the thought of TJ being with someone else. He couldn't even fathom the thought that she could betray him so painfully and completely. It would totally devastate him.

"Sam?"

He looked at her and swallowed convulsively.

Her brow furrowed with worry. "Are you okay?"

He looked around in confusion and realized they were parked in one of the accessible spaces near his apartment. He hadn't even known they'd come to a stop. "Uh, yeah," he said, finding his voice. "I'm fine."

"You've hardly said a word since Dr. Chua told us the news." She looked down, the crease in her brow deepening. "Is it..." Her brown eyes rose to meet his, and he hated the fear he saw in them. "Are you...not happy about it?"

"No. I mean, yeah." He wanted to reassure her, to take away her uncertainty. He wanted to escape the turmoil he felt. He wanted to share in her excitement instead of feeling like he was suffocating.

"I know it's a shock. Good Lord. I don't know if I really believe it. Are you worried, you know, how it will affect things—I mean, school and stuff?"

He looked out the windshield. God, he hadn't even thought about any of that.

"Is it—are you not ready to set a date for the wedding?" There was a long pause. "We don't have to if you're not ready," she said quietly.

He turned sharply toward her and grabbed her hand. "No, no. It's not that." He knew how important her family was to her and how being pregnant and not married wouldn't sit well with her parents. "We should do it as soon as possible."

She still looked troubled. "Are you sure?"

He ran his thumb along her cheekbone. The dusting of freckles there never ceased to enchant him.

She leaned into his touch.

How could he doubt her, even for a second? "I'm sure. I love you, TJ. There's nothing I want more than to be married to you."

Her smile was radiant, and she leaned toward him for a kiss. He lightly held onto the nape of her neck, his mouth meeting hers. The kiss was tender, a sweet reminder of everything they shared.

She pulled away and bit her lip, mouth curved into a tentative smile that held a hint of awe and wonder. "I think we made a miracle."

His throat tightened with emotion, and he pulled her into a hug, unable to speak.

**XXXXXXXX**

Two days later, Sam sat on the sofa watching the 49ers get beat by the Falcons on TV, not really paying much attention to it. He wasn't that big of a fan of NFL football on a good day, and this wasn't a good day. His thoughts were all over the place and he couldn't concentrate.

It was Sunday afternoon. TJ was napping, Heather was working a paramedic shift, and Dean was in the kitchen surreptitiously feeding pieces of bologna to Rocket while he made himself a sandwich. Dean came out of the kitchen and sat on the sofa on the opposite end from Sam, setting his sandwich plate on the rectangular coffee table.

Rocket sat near him alert and in perfect doggy posture, hopeful eyes peering at Dean's sandwich.

Dean rolled his eyes, pulled off a corner of the sandwich, and fed it to Rocket, whose tail wagged gratefully. "That's it," Dean said firmly. "No more."

Satisfied, Rocket jumped up onto the sofa between Dean and Sam and made himself comfortable, head on his paws, facing the TV like he was watching the game, as if he were one of the guys. Sam would normally have been amused at the whole scene, but he hardly paid attention. He scratched Rocket between his ears, but it was more of a mindless gesture of habit.

Dean had brought two longnecks with him and offered one to Sam once he'd gotten the cap off.

"No thanks."

"Take it. You look like someone just stole your favorite Barbie."

Sam half-rolled his eyes and sighed. He reached for the beer but didn't lift it to his mouth, just held it, resting it on his thigh. Dean took a huge bite of his sandwich, cheeks looking like a chipmunk's, and they sat in silence for a few minutes while he chewed.

Once he was done, he took a swig of his beer and stared at Sam. He waved a hand toward Sam's untouched beer, his voice sounding like one of those Kung Fu movies where the English was dubbed in. "You know that it is customary to actually imbibe the beverage of alcohol once it has been placed in your hand, Grasshopper."

Sam looked at the forgotten bottle and then finally took a sip just to placate Dean. The bitter brew went down icy cold and Sam was surprised by how good it tasted. It had been a while since he'd had one.

He had to be careful of what and how much liquid he drank. Beer and other types of alcohol sometimes screwed up his bladder routine, making him have to pee more often than he normally would, so he didn't really drink that often. Right now, though, he didn't care. Dean was right. He needed the buzz.

Dean seemed appeased and went back to his sandwich, taking another bite. He looked at Sam and mumbled something with his mouth full that was completely incoherent.

"What?"

Dean chewed, swallowed, and washed it down with another pull of his beer. "I said it's pretty freaky that you're gonna be a dad."

A knot immediately formed in Sam's stomach and he chugged the beer, sucking down almost half of it. He kept his eyes on the TV screen, not really seeing what was on it. "Yeah."

"'Yeah'?" Dean echoed. "That's it. That's all you have to say?"

Sam shrugged, not looking at him.

"Seems like you'd be more excited. I figured you'd have about twenty books on pregnancy by now and have a hundred articles printed out from researching online."

Sam made a noncommittal grunt and took another swig.

"Oh, I get it. You're worried it's gonna come out lookin' like you."

Sam didn't bother to acknowledge that statement.

Dean slapped him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, Sammy. At least half of its genes come from TJ, and maybe it'll get lucky. Maybe it'll get the good Winchester DNA and come out dashing and handsome like its Uncle Dean." He puffed out his chest and smiled like a JC Penney model to demonstrate, brows waggling.

Sam snorted with derision and turned his gaze back to the TV. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dean shrug and go back to eating his sandwich. Dean didn't say anything else, but Sam could feel him throw a sidelong glance his direction every once in a while.

For once, Sam was grateful for Dean's phobia of sharing feelings. Dean wouldn't push Sam to talk, even though it was obvious he knew something was up.

And one thing was for sure, Sam didn't want to talk about it. It was eating him up inside, but he was trying not to think about it. He wanted to be ecstatic like TJ was, and he kept telling himself he was overreacting. They'd been given an incredible gift, so why couldn't he just accept it and stop flipping out?

Because he knew that the odds of it being a miracle with no strings attached were pretty much impossible. That's why.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop the fear from tearing into his gut every time someone mentioned TJ's pregnancy—which was practically every second of the day since they'd found out. It was all TJ could talk about. She, Heather, and Gretchen had lengthy conversations about it, spending hours on the Internet reading about it and looking at maternity clothes, even though TJ's stomach was still flat. Heather and Gretchen seemed almost as excited about it as TJ was. Sam figured it must be some kind of girl bonding thing.

The more he tried to escape it, the more he was bombarded with it, and it kept grinding away at him. It was driving him crazy, keeping him from sleeping at night. But he didn't want to talk about it. He would deal.

"What if the baby has my demon blood, Dean?" he blurted.

_Where the hell had that come from?_

Dean slanted a look at him, one brow arched, mouth half full of sandwich. "Wha'?"

Sam gritted his teeth, pissed off at himself for saying anything.

Dean swallowed and repeated his question. "What?"

He met Dean's eyes, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. "The demon blood. If the baby is mine, what if he or she gets it?"

Dean leaned back against the sofa, his sandwich forgotten. "So what if it does?"

Sam couldn't believe Dean would say that. "'What if it does?' Dean—"

"Look, Yellow Eyes has been dead for over a year, and nothing's happened, right? No visions, no burst of freaky telekinesis, none of that shit."

Sam exhaled, mouth pinched tightly, eyes staring at but not really seeing the coffee table. He set his almost-empty beer on it and rested his elbows on his legs, head in his hands.

"Listen to me, Sam. Whatever power Azazel had, it died when you ganked him. I thought we already established that."

Head still resting in his hands, Sam turned a little to look at Dean. "The odds of me fathering a child naturally are one in a bazillion, Dean. What if it's the demon blood somehow coming into play? What if there's another demon to take Azazel's place, to carry on with his work? What if Lucifer wants a new generation of Winchesters to fuck with?"

Dean looked away. When his eyes traveled back to Sam, there was cold determination in them. "If that's the case, we'll destroy the bastard or whatever they throw at us. We won't let Lucifer win."

Sam leaned back. "That's a great can-do attitude, Dean," he said with mock enthusiasm. "So what do we do if my kid is evil? Just kill it, too?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Your kid is not gonna be evil. You're not evil, so why would your kid be?"

"We don't know that, Dean. What if whatever Azazel infected me with is dormant, and one day something just clicks and I go dark side?"

Dean gave a small nod. "You know, you're right. Let me get my gun. I'll just smoke your ass right now."

Sam let out a frustrated breath through his nose. "I'm serious."

"So am I. Maybe I should just put you out of your misery so you won't keep agonizing over this. There's nothing you can do about it now, unless you want TJ to get rid of the baby."

Sam felt a fierce surge of protectiveness for the unborn baby that surprised him. "I would never ask her to do that."

"Good. Because I'd be much more worried about her wrath if you did than I would be that there's a minuscule chance the little rug rat could have demon blood."

Sam laid his head back against the sofa and stared at the ceiling.

"Why are you freaking out about this so much? Didn't all this go through your head before you got engaged?"

"I never thought it would be an issue. I figured it was more likely we would adopt someday."

"And if TJ wanted to try to have a biological kid?"

Sam shrugged. "Then I'd tell her about the demon blood and change her mind. Or maybe by then something would have changed and the blood wouldn't be an issue anymore."

"Like what?"

Sam's voice rose in irritation. "I don't know, Dean!"

Rocket, who had been half asleep throughout their whole conversation, was startled by Sam's outburst and let out a low warning bark. Sam was surprised to see Dean reach over and scratch Rocket soothingly between his ears like it was second nature.

Obviously, Rocket had grown on Dean, especially since Sam had been at Berkeley. Sam felt an irrational twinge of jealousy. Even his dog was content without him.

He lowered his voice but was still on edge. "I don't know what I thought. It was so far in the future, I figured I'd cross that bridge when I came to it."

"Okay. Don't get your thong in a twist." One of Dean's arms rested on his thigh, hand hanging loosely, and he was still petting Rocket with his other hand. "So, uh, what did you mean earlier when you said, '_If_ the baby is mine'?"

Sam almost groaned. He never should have said that out loud. "Nothing."

Dean eyed him narrowly. "You think TJ could have cheated on you?"

Sam slowly closed his eyes and sighed. This conversation was draining him. "The odds are against me fathering a child, Dean. I can't help but have doubts. My mind keeps going through every possible scenario."

"No fuckin' way." Dean was adamant. "There is no way in hell TJ would ever cheat on you. I've never seen someone so ape-shit in love with a guy. God only knows why," he mumbled under his breath.

Sam raised his brows at Dean's fervent defense of TJ. It reminded him of a time TJ had done the same for Dean when Heather had doubted Dean's fidelity. He sighed. "I know. I keep telling myself that. But sometimes it seems like she wasn't that—I mean, I think our separation has been a lot easier for her than it has for me."

"Nope," Dean stated stubbornly. "You're a moron."

"There's the whole Ralph thing. You implied it yourself the other day."

"Oh, come on, Sam. I was just bustin' your balls. You know that. I never seriously thought TJ had something going on with Ralph."

"There was a time when they liked each other as more than friends. Maybe if I hadn't interfered..."

Dean's mouth tightened cynically. "Again, you're a moron. You're the one TJ's always loved. That Ralph guy didn't stand a chance against you."

"What if we're wrong? What if we don't know her at all? God knows, stranger things have happened. What if—" He stopped abruptly.

TJ walked into the room from the hallway, dark auburn-chestnut hair down around her shoulders and a bit mussed from sleep. She stopped near the coffee table, arms crossed like she was protecting herself, like she was cold. There was a disturbing, hollow look in her eyes that Sam had never seen before, and she was deathly pale.

The stark expression of betrayal on her face left no doubt that she'd heard at least the last part of their conversation, and it chilled Sam to the bone. In that instant he knew he'd never been more wrong about anything in his life. He'd hurt her deeply, wounded her to the core.

He could feel Dean tense next to him. Sam swallowed hard, fighting a painful tightness in his chest and throat. "TJ—"

"Don't you mean the Whore of Babylon?" Her voice was calm and even, strangely devoid of emotion. It sliced through the air like an ax.

Sam held up his hands, palms outward in a gesture of apology. "Please, TJ, let me explain."

She stared at him for a second, and then she grew even paler, eyes looking strange and unfocused. It was all the warning they got, but Sam could see with jarring panic that she was in trouble. "Dean!"

In the next instant, Dean shot off the sofa and made a move toward her, but he was hampered by the coffee table. He was only delayed by a split second, but it was enough to keep him from getting to her in time.

She reached out like she was looking for something to grab onto, something to keep her balance like she was dizzy, but nothing was there but air.

Sam watched in horror as she fell forward, hitting her temple hard on the edge of the coffee table on her way to the floor.

_**TBC**_


	5. Chapter 5

**_A/N: Thanks to my wonderful betas sallyloveslinus, catsluver, and skzb. _  
**

**_Thanks to Megan for your review. It is very much appreciated, as are ALL of you who review.  
_**

**Chapter 5**

Sam and Dean were powerless to stop TJ's fall, even though it seemed to Sam like it all happened in slow motion. The thud of her head hitting the coffee table made his heart slam up into his throat like he'd suddenly fallen through a trapdoor.

His wheelchair was sitting next to the sofa and he shoved it out of his way, then used his hands—one braced on the sofa and one on the coffee table—to lower himself onto the floor. His legs flopped to one side and banged the coffee table in his haste to scoot himself over to TJ, but he couldn't feel it and didn't care.

Rocket jumped off the sofa and came over to check on TJ, sniffing her face.

Sam pushed him away. "Rocket, no!"

Chastened, Rocket crawled back under the coffee table to his "safe" place and watched them with his head on his paws, pale eyes filled with sorrow, and whimpered. Sam felt a twinge of regret but had no time to worry about Rocket right now.

TJ had landed on her side, and the part of her head that hit the table rested on the hard, laminate wood floor. He couldn't see how bad her injury was, but she wasn't moving. Dean reached her at the same time as Sam and helped him carefully turn her over, revealing a gash in her temple that had been sliced open by the edge of the coffee table. It was bleeding profusely.

Icy fear washed through Sam. "TJ?" He tapped her pale cheeks.

She didn't respond.

"Come on, Teej. Wake up."

Still nothing, not even a twitch. Sam's heart raced, and his hold on his emotions became more precarious with each passing second. "Come on, TJ. Please."

She moaned softly, brows slightly furrowing.

"That's it. Wake up for me."

She winced.

He brushed away a few strands of hair that were sticking to the cut in her temple. "It's okay. You're gonna be okay." He looked up at Dean.

Dean nodded, got up, and went into the kitchen.

TJ's long lashes fluttered, and finally her lids opened, revealing dazed brown eyes.

"Teej?"

She frowned, groggy and annoyed. "What?"

He held up three fingers. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Three," she answered with a tone that said she thought it was a dumb question.

Sam was flooded with relief. She'd been out for less than a minute and seemed lucid. This injury was nothing by Winchester standards, but he wasn't taking any chances. "You're gonna be okay. We'll get you to a doctor and get you checked out."

She looked like she might protest but then thought better of it. "'Kay." Her eyes closed. "Gotta get the baby checked, too."

He took her hand, giving it a squeeze. "Yeah. You and the baby."

She nodded.

Dean came back with an icepack wrapped in a clean white kitchen towel and a clean damp dishrag. "How's she doin'?"

Sam took the moist cloth and dabbed at the area around the cut, careful not to touch the cut itself where it was starting to clot.

"Ow!" TJ opened her eyes and glared, freckles making her look like she was about ten years old.

Sam grimaced in sympathy. "I'm sorry."

God, was he ever. He was sorry that she'd heard his conversation with Dean, sorry he'd been such a dick, sorry that she was hurt.

After most of the blood was washed away, he could see that the gash wasn't as deep as he'd first thought. He knew that head wounds bled more in general than other parts of the body and that they often looked much worse than they actually were. He felt himself begin to uncoil from the panic he'd felt just moments before and looked at Dean. "She's gonna be all right. I don't think she'll need stitches, but we need to get her checked out."

Dean nodded. "You want me to call an ambulance?"

"No," said TJ as she started to gingerly sit up.

Dean and Sam both supported her as she got into a sitting position. She grabbed their shoulders to steady herself and swallowed thickly. "Gonna barf."

Dean shot up and ran toward the hallway bathroom, and Sam put his arm around her shoulders. "Just hang on," he soothed.

"Oh, God." She clamped her hand over her mouth, turning a subtle shade of green.

Dean made it back with a small trashcan from the bathroom just in time. When she was finished retching, he took the can, nose scrunching in disgust, and headed toward the kitchen, presumably to wash the can out. "What about that ambulance?" he said over his shoulder to Sam.

TJ answered again. "No. Take me in the Impala."

Dean looked to Sam for confirmation. Sam hesitated for a second, not sure that the paramedics wouldn't be better. He wished that Heather was there.

"I'm okay," TJ insisted.

Sam nodded reluctantly to Dean.

"All right," said Dean. "Just let me get this washed out." He indicated the can and went into the kitchen.

Sam still had his arm around TJ. "You okay to sit up by yourself so I can get in my chair?"

She nodded but wouldn't look at him, shoulders stiffening. It was clear she hadn't forgotten what had led to all of this.

He wanted to talk to her, to explain things. "I'm sorry," he said again.

She acted as if she hadn't heard him. She reached for the icepack wrapped in the dish towel and held it to her temple with a wince. Rocket slunk out from under the coffee table and tentatively sniffed her other hand. She smiled a little and petted him on the head. "I'm okay, Rocket." He wagged his tail and moved closer to her.

Her eyes stayed glued on Rocket, not giving Sam a second glance. Sam sighed, knowing he had a long way to go to make things right.

He dragged himself over to his chair, locked the brakes on it, and did his usual gymnast-type move to get himself from the floor to his chair—one palm on the floor, elbow locked, other hand gripping the frame of his chair, dipping his head low and lifting his butt up in the air enough to get it in the seat. Once seated, he lifted his legs at the knees with his hands and positioned his feet on the footplate. He realized he was only wearing socks and was about to get some shoes from his room when Dean came back into the living room.

Dean offered a hand to TJ and carefully helped her to stand. She was almost the same height as Dean, maybe just an inch shorter. She swayed a bit and grabbed his shoulders, staring at a point somewhere on the floor, the towel and icepack still clutched in one hand.

"Whoa," said Dean, ducking his head a little to see her face better. "You good?"

She swallowed. "Yeah."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. I think so." Her voice was weak and hardly convincing.

"Not good enough." Dean glanced at Sam and back to TJ. "Why don't you let Sam give you a ride to the car?"

She hesitated, not looking at Sam, but then nodded. Sam pushed himself over to her, and Dean helped her to sit in Sam's lap. She sat turned slightly sideways, one knee a little higher than the other, one bare foot on top of Sam's feet.

"Dean," said Sam, "we need shoes."

"On it." He headed down the hall.

TJ's head was resting on Sam's shoulder, probably because she didn't have anywhere else to put it rather than actually wanting it there, but he kissed the top of it anyway. "You okay?" he asked gently.

She pressed the icepack against her temple again and nodded. He felt her baby-fine hair brush along his jawline with the movement and could smell the fresh, clean scent of it. It made his heart ache.

Her free hand rested in her lap instead of wrapping around his neck like she usually did. He hugged her to keep her secure since she wouldn't hold onto him. Her only reaction was a shaky, annoyed exhale.

Dean came back with Sam's black Converse sneakers—a birthday gift from TJ year before last—and her flip-flops. He put the shoes on their feet without them asking him to, as if it was something he did every day.

Sam caught his eye. "Thanks."

Dean gave a short nod and grabbed the Impala keys off the dinette table that seemed to be a catchall for keys, mail, and other random stuff.

"Purse," TJ reminded in a flat tone. Her small leather purse was hanging on one of the brass-framed dinette chairs.

Dean grabbed her purse and slung it over his shoulder, raising his chin in the air in a comical gesture like he was proud to be sporting the bag.

She snorted a small laugh that made her refusal to even look at Sam all the more painful. She obviously wasn't mad at Dean, but why would she be? He'd defended her while Sam was being the douche bag of the year.

They exited the apartment, leaving a whining, protesting Rocket behind.

Sam pushed himself and TJ through the door and didn't like that he had to unwrap his arms from around her to do so. She still wouldn't hold onto him—a tacit reminder that she hadn't forgiven him by any means—and he was worried that she might fall off his lap on the way to the car. He was afraid to say anything that might damage the precarious truce he had with her. He didn't want her deciding to try to walk the distance instead of riding with him. He normally hated to be pushed in his chair, but this was an exception.

Dean was a step in front of them, and Sam called to him in a low voice. "Dean?"

Dean peered at him over his shoulder. Sam conveyed what he wanted with a look, and, as always, Dean got the message. He pushed Sam and TJ the rest of the way to the Impala.

On the way to the hospital, TJ lay curled on her side in the back seat, her head lying in Sam's lap, not saying a word. She had discarded the now warm and squishy icepack. The cut on her temple looked minor and had stopped bleeding, although the area around it was red, puffy, and starting to bruise. Still, the fact that she had been willing to lay her head on his lap, considering how angry he knew she was with him, was a good indication of how bad she felt.

She had been nauseated all day and felt crappy even before hitting her head. She'd had a hard time finding something she could stand to eat or even drink, and Sam was concerned. She'd taken Dr. Chua's advice and gotten the prenatal vitamins, but she needed real sustenance.

She hadn't seen an obstetrician yet, hadn't been able to get an appointment until Wednesday. She was supposed to have an ultrasound at the appointment to determine how far along she was. Sam planned to stay in town at least long enough to go with her. He wanted to get a glimpse of the baby and hear its heartbeat. He hoped that everything was okay, that nothing had happened to the baby in TJ's fall.

When they reached the hospital, Dean pulled up to the emergency doors and disappeared to get a wheelchair for TJ. Once they were all inside, the receptionist at the emergency desk, a white-haired woman with small, wire-frame glasses resting on the tip of her nose, started asking TJ questions.

TJ sat slumped in the borrowed wheelchair, answering the questions in a soft monotone.

"Any idea why you might have fainted, dear?"

TJ's voice was stronger when she answered that question. "I'm pregnant, and my fiancé is a jackass."

Dean shot Sam a smirk and coughed into his fist.

Sam didn't say anything, just glanced away and let out a slow breath. He knew she was right.

The lady looked up over her glasses at Dean, her expression inquisitive. Naturally, she would assume Dean was TJ's fiancé. Sam found it annoying.

Dean pointed at Sam. "He's the jackass."

The lady didn't comment, just looked down and typed something into her computer with her lips curved upward in amusement. After all her questions had been answered, she sent them over to the waiting area. Dean pushed TJ's wheelchair toward a row of cream-colored plastic chairs, a clipboard and a stack of paperwork to fill out in her lap.

Dean sat in one of the regular chairs at the end of the row, and TJ sat in the borrowed wheelchair between him and Sam. She grabbed her insurance card from her purse and started filling out the forms. She looked pale and her brow was drawn like she might have a headache.

Sam cleared his throat. "You want me to fill them out for you?"

"No," she said flatly, not bothering to look at him.

He lowered his head, contrite, and stared at the sterile, white-tiled floor. This quiet, distant TJ scared him much worse than TJ with a temper. In the past, on the rare occasions she'd ever really gotten mad at him, she'd been angry and let him know what she was feeling in no uncertain terms. Her ire would burn hot and then, just as quickly, die away. She wasn't one to let things simmer. She liked to get things out in the open and be done with it. She was usually a very forgiving person and never held a grudge.

This was new territory for both of them. She'd never acted this way before because he'd never hurt her like this before. He would give anything to take back what he'd said to Dean, to go back in time and keep all this from happening. But he couldn't. He'd hurt her, and he had to find a way to make it right.

Once she was finished with the forms, Sam turned them in, and he, TJ, and Dean all sat in a heavy, oppressive silence. One of TJ's elbows was on the armrest of the wheelchair she sat in, her head resting in her hand. Her injured temple shone like a beacon, a constant reminder of what a complete asshole Sam had been. He wanted so badly to comfort her but knew by her body language that she didn't want anything from him.

Dean stared at the obligatory waiting room TV mounted high in one corner of the room. _60 Minutes_ was on, and he appeared to be engrossed in it. He chuckled. "You know, that Andy Rooney's a pretty funny dude."

TJ had no reaction, and Sam just looked at him.

Dean looked mildly uncomfortable. "What?"

Sam shook his head a little and let out a long sigh, wanting this to be over. He wanted a doctor to tell him TJ and the baby were okay, and then he wanted to get TJ somewhere private where he could talk to her. The whole silent treatment thing was making him edgier by the minute. He worked his wheels with his hands in tiny movements, back and forth, back and forth.

He was about to look for a magazine, not so much to read but to have something else to do with his hands, when he noticed his upper abdominal muscles flex for a fraction of a second. It was subtle and he didn't always feel it, but it happened sometimes when his bladder was full. It would probably happen again in a minute or so and was a reminder that he was overdue for a trip to the restroom.

His schedule was off because of everything that had happened, and he'd been so worried about TJ it hadn't crossed his mind. At least he wasn't too late and hadn't looked down to find his jeans were wet. He was lucky, especially since he'd drunk the beer earlier. His bladder and bowel issues were by far the worst thing about his disability, but he dealt with it. He didn't have a choice.

He had a wheelchair backpack where he always kept cath supplies and an extra pair of jeans and boxers, just in case. He scanned the waiting area and spotted the bathrooms just beyond the reception desk.

He leaned closer to TJ, trying to catch her eye, but she kept staring at the floor. "I'm going to the restroom," he said, "but I'll be back."

She closed her eyes, shutting him out.

He sighed and pushed himself toward the men's room. When he got back to the waiting area several minutes later, she was gone. He looked at Dean. "Should I—did she say—did she want me to go back there with her?"

Dean shook his head. "I don't think so. She didn't say anything when the nurse came and got her. I think you should wait."

Sam glanced up at the ceiling and then hung his head. "_Fuck." _He'd said it to himself, but it seemed to hover in the air.

"She won't stay mad at you."

Sam exhaled, defeated, and turned his chair to where he could back it into the spot next to Dean. Once he was settled, he rested his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. "I've never seen her like this."

"There's no doubt you fucked up, dude, but she won't stay mad."

"I have to tell her."

"Yeah. You do."

Sam leaned back and swallowed.

"It's TJ. She'll understand."

"I don't know."

Dean scowled. "Jesus, Sam. Why don't you try having a little faith in her? Don't you think you owe her that?"

Sam briefly met Dean's gaze and then stared at the TV, not really seeing it. "Yeah. I guess I do."

He wanted to believe Dean was right, that TJ would understand. He wanted to believe in her love for him, but he was so damn afraid. "She grew up going to church every Sunday, Dean. How is she gonna feel about a husband who has _demon_ blood? She and her parents aren't Bible thumpers, but they are definitely religious. How are Fern and Vern gonna feel about a son-in-law with demon blood joining their family?"

"It won't matter to TJ." Dean said it like it was a given. "Fern and Vern? Who knows? Has she told them about any of the other stuff?"

"I don't think so."

"Well, why do they have to know about the blood? I'd leave it up to TJ. Let her decide if she wants them to know."

Sam leaned forward, resting his forearms on his legs, and nodded.

Forty-five minutes later, he was allowed to go back and see her. She was in an exam room lying on a small, padded exam table. The back of it was inclined so that she was sort of sitting up. The small room was a tight space for Sam to maneuver his chair in, but he managed and wheeled up to her, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him.

She was still in her clothes, and there was now a giant Band-Aid on her temple. The cut wasn't visible, but the bruising around the area made Sam cringe. She was holding a plastic cup of what he assumed was water, and she was still pale.

He cleared his throat. "Hey."

She didn't answer, just stared at him.

"So, what did they say? Did you have to have stitches?"

She blinked and then closed her eyes tiredly. "No."

Sam was heartened that she had at least answered him. "Do they think you have a concussion?"

She winced almost imperceptibly, eyes still closed. "A mild one."

"Your head is hurting?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry."

There was a pause, and then she looked at him, her expression carefully concealing any emotion. "The doctor thinks I'm probably dehydrated and have low blood sugar because I haven't eaten much today. That could be causing the headache as much as the bump on my head."

"What about your blood pressure?"

"Still low." She shifted her legs a little. "Everything's out of whack. They think I might be anemic because of the nausea. That can cause dizziness, and so can low blood pressure and dehydration."

He didn't like the sound of that. "What about the baby?"

She jutted her chin forward, showing her first real spark of anger. "What about it?"

He ignored the sharp pang of guilt the question caused. "Do they think—can they tell if, you know, everything's okay?"

"They're waiting for the obstetrician on call to come in. They said the baby is probably okay, but the obstetrician will most likely do an ultrasound when she gets here just to make sure. We'll know more then." She took a sip of her water, eyeing him over her cup, gaze hard. She was being civil, but there was no doubt he was in the doghouse with her. "They want me to drink a lot of water if I can keep it down before the ultrasound. I guess it makes everything show up better."

He couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement, although the circumstances were far from what he'd pictured. He wanted to see the baby, but this wasn't how the first glimpse of it was supposed to be—in an ER with TJ pissed off at him. There was too much tension, too much bad karma.

"But then, what do you care?" she went on. Her tone was biting. "It's not your baby, right?"

He gripped his wheels. "TJ, I didn't mean that."

She sat up and turned so that her back was to him, causing the protective paper on the exam table to crinkle. She faced the counter across from her where a pitcher sat, and then she stood and poured herself more water.

He was relieved that she seemed steadier on her feet. "TJ, please, let me explain."

She took a swig of water but wouldn't turn around, still giving him the cold shoulder.

He sighed and looked around the room, as if he might find the right words to say written on a wall somewhere. "God, TJ. I'm so sorry. I know the baby is mine. I was an ass for ever doubting it, even for a second. I know you would never cheat on me."

She still kept her back to him.

"It's just...well, it's such a shock. I never—I thought that possibility was lost to me. I didn't think I'd ever be able to father a child naturally. I mean, the odds are, like, one in a billion. You know that."

She didn't move at first, but then she slammed the cup down on the counter and returned to the exam table, reclining on it again. Her mouth was tightly sealed, and when she looked at him, her eyes smoldered. "So you find it easier to believe that I'd cheat on you with Ralph, that I'm a slut?"

"No. I guess I was just analyzing things, going through every possible scenario."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"No. It's just—I know I was wrong. It's—it's been so hard for me, though, being away from you at Berkeley. And you..."

"And I what?"

"I don't know. It seems so much easier for you."

Her face scrunched up in an expression of indignant denial. "That's so not true."

"Maybe not, but for me—God, TJ. I miss you all day, every day," he explained. "I never get any relief from it. I miss you so much sometimes I feel like I'm suffocating, like I need you to be able to breathe. But you...you've always been so okay with me leaving, like it wasn't that big of a deal. And then you started hanging out with Gretchen and Ralph. I guess I was jealous."

Tears welled in her eyes and her voice came out thick, her drawl pronounced. "Lord, Sam. There were times when I thought I would die without you here. I didn't want you to know how much I missed you, how much I needed you, because I didn't want to make things harder on you."

She took a second to regain her composure, and then her eyes landed on him again. "Gretchen and Ralph kept me sane, gave me somethin' else to focus on besides how much it hurt that you were gone. They are totally into each other, Sam, but they were like a couple of twelve-year-olds. In the beginning, I was their excuse to get together, but now they're over that. They've been spendin' a lot of time together on their own, just the two of them. There's _nothing_ between Ralph and me and there never will be."

He laid his hand next to her, palm open, silently asking for her forgiveness. She eyed him warily for a moment but then gave in and put her hand in his, scooting closer to the edge of the exam table where he could reach her easier. The softness of her skin soothed him and he kissed the back of her hand, relieved to be connected to her again. "I love you so much. It wasn't so much that I doubted you. It's—there's something—" He stopped abruptly and looked up at her. "I'm scared, TJ."

She rolled her eyes. "You think I'm not? I mean, holy shit. We're having a baby." She gave a self-deprecating laugh. "Lord, I was stupid. So careless. But, like you, I thought it couldn't happen. I probably should have been on the pill, but a part of me didn't care. I figured if I got pregnant, it would be a miracle, like fate or something, and we'd deal. But I never in a million years thought it would happen this soon. I don't know why I thought that. It only takes once, right?"

Her brow furrowed and she looked him in the eye. "What are we gonna do, Sam? I mean, we were supposed to be established in our careers and financially secure before we had kids, like, when we were in our thirties. How will this affect my grad school, my job? What will we do about childcare? Where will we live? We can't do the long-distance thing with a baby. Somethin' has to give, either your law school or my grad school. And what are my parents gonna think?" Her voice broke a little. "I don't want to disappoint them, and I never wanted a shotgun wedding."

He felt selfish for not talking about this with her. He'd been so wrapped up in _his_ fears that it hadn't occurred to him that she might have her own. She'd seemed so happy about the pregnancy. He rubbed the tips of his fingers gently along the inside of her wrist. "TJ, we were already engaged. It's not a shotgun wedding, and it's not like we're teenagers. We can handle it. We'll figure everything out. And your parents love you. They won't be disappointed in you. They'll understand." He paused and looked down. "It's not the normal stuff that I'm worried about. That's not what scares me."

"Then what does?"

He swallowed hard and couldn't bring himself to look at her.

"Sam?"

He drew in a breath to steel himself and took her hand again, gripping it tightly. "How much of my conversation with Dean did you hear?"

She huffed. "More than I wanted to. That's for damn sure."

He suddenly felt hot, stifled.

"Sam, what's wrong with you?"

"There's something I haven't told you, something I should have told you a long time ago after everything with the Yellow-Eyed Demon went down."

"What are you talking about?"

"I know we promised each other we'd always be honest, but I thought—I hoped it didn't matter anymore. That bastard is in hell, and I..." He paused and met her gaze with apology. "I thought I couldn't pass it on. I thought we were safe, that you'd want to adopt and—"

"Sam Winchester, what on earth are you talkin' about?"

"You know—remember that I told you my mom was killed trying to stop Yellow Eyes from doing something to me in my nursery?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, she didn't."

"Didn't stop him?"

He shook his head, feeling sick to his stomach at what Azazel had done to him.

TJ's voice was cautious and urgent at the same time. "What did he do to you, Sam?"

He stared at their hands and almost choked on the bitter taste of self-loathing. "He bled into my mouth. He...infected me with demon blood."

She didn't say anything, and Sam was afraid to look up and see what was on her face. He didn't think he could stand it if he saw fear or repulsion. He already tormented himself enough with those feelings and didn't want to see them echoed in her eyes.

The air was so heavy with the words he'd spoken that he felt like he was drowning, but he plowed on, wanting it all out, wanting it over with. "He slit his own wrist and let the blood drip into my mouth. No one knew. I didn't find out until after my injury, when he offered to cure me if I would lead Lucifer's army."

She didn't say anything, so he rambled. "It—the blood, it did things to me, made me have visions of the future. I saw people dying. Dean and I tried to save them, but," he clenched his eyes shut, the anguish of it all suddenly fresh in his mind, "there were times we were too late."

She was still silent and it was killing him. He couldn't stop talking, and the words kept pouring from him. "There were even a couple of times when I—I could move things...with my mind. After my SCI, it all stopped and I thought it was gone. But then Azazel—well, you know the rest. He started fucking with my head, showed me in a dream what he'd done to me and tortured me with the promise of a cure. He said leading the army was my destiny, that there was nothing I could do about it, that evil was inside me and there was no use fighting it."

He felt her fingers twitch and opened his eyes to see that he had a death grip on her hand. He let go as if he'd been burned, hoping he hadn't hurt her, and grabbed his wheels instead, still not meeting her gaze.

"Sam?" She said his name so softly he thought he'd imagined it until she said it again. "Sam?"

He didn't want to face her. The shame was overwhelming, twisting his insides.

He could see her shift on the exam table out of the corner of his eye, her body causing the padded vinyl of it to squeak and the paper to rustle. She maneuvered herself into a sitting position, her long legs hanging over the side in front of him, brushing his own legs. He couldn't feel them, of course, but he could see them. He closed his eyes, wishing he was able to feel her, wanting her to touch him on his body where he could. He didn't dare reach out to her, was afraid she might reject him.

As if she had read his mind, he felt her hands comb through his hair, felt her pull him toward her. He leaned forward and she guided his head onto her lap, his cheek resting on her thigh. She continued to brush his hair away from his temple, and he reached up and placed his hands on her hips. He was afraid to open his eyes, afraid he was imagining the gentleness of her touch.

"Is that it?" she asked softly.

He raised his head, finally looking at her. "What do you mean, 'Is that it?' I just told you I have _demon_ blood in me."

She poked her cheek with her tongue, quirking her mouth, humor in her eyes.

He frowned. "You think it's funny?"

She pressed her lips together. "No."

He studied her for a moment and watched her mouth grow tighter as she tried to hold in a smile. "You do," he accused. "You think it's funny."

"I don't think it's funny." A laugh escaped her, contradicting what she'd just said, and she shook her head, trying to keep her amusement under control. "I swear."

"TJ, do you understand what I'm telling you? I could have passed this on to our kid."

"You think?" Her laughter was suppressed, but her eyes sparkled with mischief. "Hey, if it's a boy, we can name him Damien."

He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms, angry and incredulous. "I can't believe you're making light of this."

She leaned toward him and took his face in her hands, her smile indulgent. "Sam, first of all, you're about as evil as my left pinky toe. Second, you weren't born with demon blood. It's somethin' that demon did to you when you were six months old. It's not in your DNA. It's not in your genes. You can't pass it on."

"You don't know that."

Her brows went up. "Uh, _yeah_, I do know that," she said wryly. "I'm a molecular biologist, remember? I study DNA on a daily basis."

He pulled away and exhaled sharply through his nose, frustrated that she wasn't taking this seriously. "Okay. Fine. Do you study how _demon blood_ affects DNA on a daily basis?"

She rolled her eyes.

"What if Azazel somehow altered my DNA? We're not talking about the normal laws of science here, TJ."

She brushed an errant strand of his hair away with her thumb. "Okay. On the off chance that Azazel did alter you somehow, have you had any visions since you killed him? Have you gone all _Bewitched_ and made objects fly through the air?"

"No, but—"

"Uh-uh," she interrupted, cutting him off. "You told me that day you shot Azazel that his power died with him. Why do you think whatever he did to you as a baby wouldn't have gone away, too?"

He wanted so badly to believe she was right, but he couldn't. "Things are never that cut and dried, especially for me. What if it's just lying dormant? What if something else comes along someday to take Yellow Eyes' place, picks up where he left off, tries to hurt our baby or turn it into some kind of agent for Lucifer?"

"Then you and Dean will kill whatever it is and we'll live happily ever after."

He snorted. "It's not that easy. My dad spent half his life battling to kill Azazel and lost."

"Yeah. But _you_ won. You destroyed the evil son of a bitch." She braced her hands on the table, making the paper rustle, and looked at him with a critical eye. "Did you ever think that _I_ might be the wild card here? I mean, what do we know about my DNA? You know more about your family history than I do about mine. I know absolutely nothing."

He frowned. "Don't they have a medical history of your family in your adoption file?"

She shook her head. "Nope. My biological mother left me on my parents' doorstep. She didn't leave a forwarding address," she said dryly. "She was sort of a drifter, a sixteen-year-old student that my mom taught in her high school chemistry class with no family to speak of, just her grandmother that no one ever saw. She only lived in Moss Fork for six months and was already pregnant when she got there. She only went to Tucker County High School for half a year. My mother tried to help her, kind of took her under her wing, but Trisha—that was her name—never let my mother get that close.

"No one knew who my father was or where Trisha came from. The summer after she was in my mom's class, my parents found me on their doorstep. The police tried to find her, but she had falsified her records. Trisha Wexler just disappeared off the face of the earth. When they went to her place to question her grandmother, she was gone, too."

"Does it bother you that she left you?"

"It did at times, like when I was a teenager. I wondered who she was, why she was so mysterious. Sometimes it was all I could think about, and I wanted to try and find her."

"What did Fern and Vern say?"

She shrugged. "I never told them how I felt."

"Why?"

"They were so..._good—_the best parents ever, you know? I thought it might hurt them, that they might think I wasn't happy with them or something. Now that I look back on it, they probably would have been supportive of me searching for Trisha if they'd known."

"So why didn't you pursue it when you got older?"

"I got over it. It's probably impossible to find her anyway. I mean, the police already tried back when she left me. It's against the law to abandon a baby, you know? They never found anything."

"I'm sorry."

"Why? I probably had a much better life than I would have with an unwed teenage mother who was barely sixteen and no real family to help her—not to mention the fact that she obviously didn't want me."

"Maybe she gave you up because she loved you and she knew Fern and Vern would give you a better home than she could."

"Yeah. I used to tell myself that. Now I don't really give a fuck." Her eyes widened and she covered her mouth with her hand. "Oops. I'm gonna have to watch what I say." She pointed down at her abdomen.

Sam smiled for what felt like the first time in days. "Yeah. I think we all are."

She leaned toward him and he met her half way. She took his face in her hands again. "I love you, demon boy." She kissed him tenderly on the lips. "Got any other secrets you wanna tell me?"

"No," he said, kissing her back. "I think that's about it."

"Good."

He wasn't convinced that the demon blood was out of the picture, but the shame that he carried, the shame that had been overwhelming before, was less painful because TJ still loved him.

She was still leaning close to him and they kissed again, this time much deeper and more demanding, a confirmation that nothing could come between them.

There was a soft knock at the slightly open door and the sound of a throat clearing. They sprang apart like guilty teenagers as a tall woman in light-blue scrubs and a white coat walked into the room. She smiled and held out her hand first to Sam, then TJ. "Hi. Cindy Williams—no relation to Shirley."

Sam smiled in acknowledgment. TJ frowned, obviously not understanding what the doctor was referring to.

The doctor saw the look on TJ's face and waved a hand in dismissal. "Kids these days." She raised a brow at TJ. "You never watched _Laverne & Shirley, _spinoff of _Happy Days? _Cindy Williams is the actress that played Shirley."

"Oh," said TJ. "Yeah. I've seen the reruns on the TV Land channel."

Dr. Williams rolled her eyes. "I'm getting old." She didn't seem that old, maybe in her late thirties or early forties. She had a slightly frazzled appearance, her thick, unruly blond hair falling out of a barrette that pulled it back from her face. She blew out a breath that caused her bangs to stir. "It's been a busy afternoon and evening."

She reached outside the door and grabbed a chart from the holder there. "All right." She glanced at the name label on the chart. "You must be TJ." She raised her eyes to Sam. "And you are?"

"Sam Winchester. I'm TJ's fiancé."

"Oh. Congratulations." She focused back on the chart. "Let's see what's going on here," she muttered to herself.

TJ and Sam waited as she flipped through the chart. "Says here you just found out about your pregnancy a couple of days ago?"

"Yes," said TJ.

She asked TJ more questions about what happened when TJ fainted, whether TJ had been to an obstetrician yet, and so on. TJ patiently answered them all, explaining about her severe nausea and everything else, although she'd already been through it all with the ER doc.

"All right. I'm going to need to do a pelvic exam so I can examine your cervix and feel your uterus." She bent down, opened a cabinet door to grab a paper drape for TJ, and handed it to her. "I need you to strip down to your birthday suit." She looked at Sam. "Let's give her some privacy."

Sam pushed himself into the hallway. The doctor followed him out and caught the attention of a passing nurse. "Chandler, do we have an ultrasound machine down here?"

Chandler, who had a bright, dimply smile and long, curly brown hair, nodded. "I think Dr. Hervey had it last. I'll find it."

Dr. Williams nodded with satisfaction and looked at Sam. "If not, we'll have to get TJ to the imaging department."

"Right."

She rapped a few quick knocks on the door. "How you doing in there, sweetie?"

"I'm ready," TJ called from inside.

The doctor entered the room and shut the door, leaving Sam to wait in the hallway. A few minutes later, Chandler came up to the door rolling a portable ultrasound machine on a cart. It looked like a high-tech computer system with a monitor. "Is this the first glimpse of your baby?" she said, looking down at Sam.

"Yeah."

"Awesome. You probably won't be able to make out much, but you'll be able to detect a heartbeat if your wife's far enough along."

"Really?" He didn't correct her that TJ wasn't his wife. She would be soon enough. The thought was exciting and sobering at the same time. Everything was happening so fast, like a runaway train. TJ was right. There were so many things they needed to figure out, things that he hadn't even allowed himself to consider because he'd been so freaked about the demon blood.

"If you haven't found an obstetrician yet, Dr. Williams has a great reputation. She's known for her cool head in emergency delivery situations."

Sam nodded. "Thanks for the info. We'll keep that in mind."

A second later, Dr. Williams opened the door. "Oh, there you are," she said to Chandler. She looked down at Sam. "You want to come in first so you won't have to maneuver around the machine?"

He nodded and pushed himself into the room. He swiveled his chair around and backed up to the wall near the head of the exam table so that he was almost even with TJ's head. She was back in her hoodie and jeans but looked cold. He grabbed her hand and squeezed, trying to infuse some warmth into her. She smiled at him, freckles stark against her too-pale skin. She was better, but she wasn't a hundred percent by any means, and Sam was worried about her.

Chandler wheeled the ultrasound cart over to where Dr. Williams could access it and handed the doctor the supplies she would need. As Dr. Williams put on latex gloves, she said to TJ, "You'll want to unbutton your jeans and lift up your shirt."

TJ did as she was instructed while Chandler dimmed the lights in the room. The doctor squirted a small amount of a gel-like substance onto TJ's lower abdomen. Then she took a small, hand-held device about the size of a bar of soap that was attached to the ultrasound machine by a cord and rubbed it in the gel, gliding it over TJ's abdomen. A grainy, indecipherable image appeared on the monitor component of the machine.

Dr. Williams made a few adjustments, typing things into the ultrasound's computer, occasionally switching the view with a dial on the keyboard until she saw what she wanted. She scrutinized the screen for a long while. "Hm. That's interesting."

TJ and Sam shared a concerned look. "What?" said TJ.

Dr. Williams' gaze traveled from Sam to TJ. "Forgive my bluntness, but this pregnancy wasn't planned, was it?"

TJ's ears turned a little pink. "Um, no."

"I mean, you haven't gone through any fertility treatments?"

TJ frowned. "No."

The doctor focused her attention back on the screen and studied it for another minute.

Sam cleared his throat, his pulse quickening. "Is—is something wrong?"

Dr. Williams turned to him, a crooked smile on her face. "Oh, no. Nothing's wrong." Her smile broadened. "Congratulations. You're having twins."

_**TBC**_


	6. Chapter 6

**_A/N: Thanks to my stupendous betas, catsluver, skzb, and sallyloveslinus, for all their hard work! _  
**

**_Thanks to MJ for your review and to everyone who reviews, alerts, and is reading this story. You rock.  
_**

**Chapter 6**

For the second time in two days, TJ was shocked to her core. Had she heard right? Did Dr. Williams just say _twins_?

She sat frozen, forgetting to breathe. The dim room seemed to tilt for a second and then right itself. She looked at Sam.

He was staring at Dr. Williams. His face was the same ashy color it was when Dr. Chua told them TJ was pregnant. He still held TJ's hand, but he hadn't moved.

TJ forced herself to breathe. _Here we go again. _She'd known from the moment they found out she was pregnant that something wasn't right, that he wasn't as happy about it as he'd tried to act like he was.

His earlier doubts that the baby might not be his had devastated and completely floored her—literally. In the end, she forgave him because when could she ever stay mad at Sam? She realized his doubts stemmed from his fears about the demon blood and the belief he held that he was cursed, that nothing ever went right for him.

She couldn't blame him for feeling that way. He'd seen a lot of horrible things in his life and lost a lot of people he loved. Then there was his spinal cord injury and the fact that a demon had wanted him to lead Lucifer's army. So, yeah. Sam had a pretty compelling case for arguing that he was cursed.

But things were going right for him too. He seemed to have accepted his new life and was dealing well with his paraplegia; he was a student at one of the best law schools in the country; and, against all odds, he'd fathered a child. Correction—_twins!_

Okay. Granted, the whole baby business was a bit daunting (scary as shit, actually) and threw a kink in things, but life happens when you're making other plans, right? It would be a challenge, but they could handle it as long as they were together.

Sam turned his head toward TJ and met her eyes, but there was no indication of what he might be thinking. Then, slowly, a huge grin spread across his face.

TJ was never so relieved and happy to see those gorgeous dimples of his as she was at that moment. "You're a stud," she said, beaming back.

Dr. Williams gave a small smile. "Well, Fertile Myrtle, you had something to do with it, too."

Sam squeezed TJ's hand, his large one encasing hers, warm and safe. He seemed as genuinely happy as she was this time, and she suddenly felt a little loopy. She couldn't contain the dorky laugh that bubbled up.

Dr. Williams turned back to the ultrasound monitor, still smiling. "By measuring the size of the babies from crown to rump and based on when you guessed your last period was, it looks like you're about eleven weeks."

TJ did the math in her head and realized she would have conceived in August. She held in another laugh. Maybe they should name one of the babies after a certain Indian biology professor who'd asked them to house-sit.

"You're almost out of the first trimester," Dr. Williams went on, "so your risk of miscarriage goes way down. Let's see here," she said, typing into the computer. "Your due date is April 30th, but that's what it would be for one baby, a 40-week pregnancy. With twins, you're lucky to make it to 34. Thirty-eight would be ideal. Let's hope you can make it until April at least."

TJ was determined that her babies were not going to be born early. She'd do whatever it took to carry them to a safe term.

"I can give you a list of some good web sites with information regarding twins and the names of a couple of books, if you'd like," said Dr. Williams.

"That would be great," said TJ. "Thank you."

Dr. Williams used the mouse of the ultrasound's computer as a tool for pointing and drawing. "This is the head of Baby A," she said, pointing to the first of two grainy, peanut-shaped images, "and this is the head of Baby B," she said, pointing to the second. She used the mouse to draw an arrow pointing to their heads and labeled them. Then she pointed at two pulsing, tiny blobs. "These are their hearts beating."

TJ felt a surge of emotion and tightened her hold on Sam's hand.

Dr. Williams drew arrows pointing to the hearts. Then she drew heart shapes around them and wrote _"We love Mommy and Daddy_" above them.

TJ and Sam both smiled from ear to ear.

"We won't be able to see their gender until later on in the pregnancy, possibly after 16 weeks, although it might be a little longer."

"Can you tell if they're fraternal or identical?" asked Sam.

Dr. Williams arched a pensive brow. "Well, I'm seeing two placentas, so that's a good indication they're dizygotic, which means they're more likely fraternal. We'll know for sure they are fraternal if we see two different genders in a later ultrasound. If they're both the same gender, you might have to wait until after they're born and have DNA tests if you really want to know."

Dr. Williams clicked on something with the mouse, and a printer spit out a printout of the ultrasound, including Dr. Williams' illustrations and "message" from the babies. She handed it to Sam.

"Thanks," he said with a smile. TJ leaned toward him and he showed it to her. She looked up at the doctor, about to ask if Dr. Williams would print out another copy.

The doctor held up her hand. "On it," she said, anticipating TJ's question.

A few seconds later, TJ had her own copy of the ultrasound. She stared at it, mesmerized by what she saw. It was hard to make out the shape of the babies. If Dr. Williams hadn't pointed things out, TJ wouldn't have been able to make heads or tails of what was in the picture. It was a little surreal to think that these blurry images were two little miracles that she and Sam had created against all odds.

She was suddenly struck by the magnitude of it all_. _She felt a lump in her throat and her eyes welled. She'd never felt so blessed before or so overwhelmed by the realization that she'd been given two precious gifts that she had to protect at all costs.

She looked at Sam. His brow was wrinkled in that soulful way of his, and his mouth was tight like he was holding in some strong emotion. She knew that he was thinking the same thing she was.

Dr. Williams glanced at Sam and then spoke to TJ in a wistful, yet sort of wry tone. "Don't ever let him get Botox."

TJ grinned. Botox was the stuff people injected into their foreheads to keep their brow from wrinkling.

Sam looked at Dr. Williams, forehead still creased. He appeared more perplexed than soulful now, and Chandler giggled. When he realized what they were talking about, he rolled his eyes.

Chandler handed some paper towels to TJ, and TJ wiped the gel off her abdomen and buttoned her jeans. It was probably the power of suggestion, but they suddenly seemed tighter. She wondered if she would have noticed the changes in her body sooner if she hadn't lost weight because of the vomiting.

"Okay," Dr. Williams said in a let's-get-back-to-business tone, blowing her bangs out of her eyes with a puff of air. "I'm concerned about the hyperemesis gravidarum, which is fancy lingo for severe nausea and vomiting. Nausea is common in pregnancy, especially in the first trimester, but it's not common for it to be as severe as you have it. The biggest risks are dehydration and anemia, and I'm pretty sure you are anemic. What about water? Are you able to keep that down?"

"Um, sometimes."

"Have you been able to keep the prenatal vitamins down?"

TJ hadn't really, but she'd led Sam to believe that she had. She cleared her throat, knowing she was about to be busted. "Um, it's about fifty/fifty."

Sam gave her what Dean called his bitchface. "You said you did. You've only had them for two days."

"Right. I kept the one yesterday down...sort of," she muttered.

"Sort of?" he repeated.

"But, um, I threw up the one that I took this morning."

"TJ," he scolded, looking worried.

"Hm," said Dr. Williams. "That's not good. You need to be on an iron supplement, but most women find that makes them even more nauseated than the prenatal vitamins, and you're not even keeping those down. We've got to find a way to keep some nutrients in you."

TJ was about to speak when Sam beat her to it.

"She's been trying the ginger pops the last few days and ginger cookies," he informed, "but they haven't really helped. She hasn't been able to eat hardly anything." He shot TJ a look that dared her to contradict him.

She pursed her lips, a little annoyed but also kind of glad that he was taking care of her. She knew he was speaking up because she had a tendency to downplay things. It was a habit she would have to stop. It wasn't just her health at stake anymore. She would have to walk a fine line, though, between being open with Sam about her condition and not worrying him to the point where he would want to leave Berkeley. Hopefully, now that they knew what was causing the nausea, they could do something to stop it and everything would be fine. Then he wouldn't have anything to worry about.

Dr. Williams sighed. "TJ, I'm inclined to admit you for a couple of days to get you rehydrated and get your strength up."

TJ's heart immediately plummeted. '_Hell, no'_ was on the tip of her tongue, but she kept quiet. If that's what was best for the babies, then that's what she would do, despite the fact that she detested hospitals.

"How long have you been having the dizziness?" asked Dr. Williams.

TJ glanced down at her fingernails, knowing she was about to say something else Sam wasn't going to like. "Um, awhile."

Bitchface number two.

Dr. Williams' mouth quirked at the face Sam made, her expression amused and concerned at the same time. "How long is 'awhile'?"

TJ winced a little, anticipating Sam's displeasure when he heard this answer. "Um, a month, maybe?"

He exhaled and gripped his wheels but didn't say anything. Everyone in the room was silent, as if they all knew there was more to it.

"Okay. Maybe a month and a half."

Sam gave a massive eye roll, getting his whole head into the movement, and folded his arms across his chest. "Come on, TJ! Are you kidding me?"

"But it hasn't been that big of a deal," she rushed on. "Today was by far the worst. I've never fallen before."

Another sigh from Dr. Williams. "Okay," she said, as if that information was the clincher. "I'm going to admit you for at least forty-eight hours. We'll see how your blood sugar and blood pressure do and monitor the anemia, get some iron and Vitamin B-6 and other good stuff in you by IV. I'm also going to prescribe an anti-nausea medication for you and see if it helps. There are three different ones we can try, but they all seem to have about the same success rate. We'll see."

"Why is it so severe?" asked Sam.

"For one thing, the fact that she's pregnant with multiples. She's got rapidly rising serum levels of hormones like HCG and estrogen at twice the normal amounts, twice the drain on her body, twice everything. She would probably be nauseated with a singleton, too, but her symptoms are doubled because of the twins. It's also her first pregnancy. Symptoms tend to be worse for first-time moms." She gave him a rueful grimace. "The other answer is that no one really knows, and there's no real way anyone has found to get rid of it." She turned her attention to TJ. "Hopefully, it'll start tapering off soon, since you're nearing the end of your first trimester."

"And if it doesn't?" Sam asked.

"Then we'll deal with it. Or whoever you choose for your obstetrician will deal with it."

He glanced at TJ with a slight frown, obviously not happy with the doctor's answer. "What about the anemia and the low blood pressure?"

"The anemia we can hopefully alleviate with iron supplements and the right diet, if we can get the nausea under control. Same with the low blood pressure."

Sam's frown deepened. "What happens if the vomiting gets worse?"

"Then she may continue to have to be hospitalized periodically, or a home program of IV hydration and nutrition may be an option."

"What are the possible complications?"

Dr. Williams pursed her lips. "You don't leave any stone unturned, do you?"

"I don't like surprises. I want to know what we could be up against."

She raised a questioning brow at TJ, as if making sure TJ wanted to hear it. TJ nodded. Like Sam, she didn't want any surprises lurking in the shadows.

The doctor nodded. "Okay. In rare, really, really severe cases, hyperemesis can cause complications like renal failure, hypoglycemia, depression, hallucinations, jaundice, mallory-weiss tear of the esophagus..."

TJ's heart seemed to stop for a split second, and she saw Sam swallow thickly. She'd already been there and done that and had no desire to go through it again.

Dr. Williams gave a little grimace. "The list is really too long for me to recite, and it's a bunch of conditions with big words you've probably never heard of. Besides, it's not likely to happen. TJ's case hasn't been that severe."

"And the twins?" Sam prompted.

"Low birth weight, premature birth. Researchers are just now doing studies on the long-term effects. There's evidence the stress and malnutrition due to the vomiting can make the fetuses at risk for chronic diseases such as diabetes or heart disease later in life, and there could be neurobehavioral issues from birth."

Sam and TJ both sat stiffly, digesting the information.

"Sorry. I can see I've scared the pants off both of you, but you did want to know."

Dr. Williams was right. They asked for it. TJ drew in a deep breath, trying to get her blood circulating again.

"This is worst-case scenario, guys, and not very likely," Dr. Williams consoled. "Hopefully, once you're out of the first trimester, things will improve and the rest of your pregnancy will go without a hitch."

TJ nodded. Sam raised his brows in acknowledgment but didn't look convinced. His mouth was in a tight line, and his arms were still folded over his chest. TJ could see the wheels turning in his head. He was already imagining the worst, even though most of it would probably never happen. She knew what he was thinking, that the Winchester curse was rearing its ugly head or that somehow the demon blood was coming into play.

Well, she refused to believe it. Sam was the kindest, gentlest, most selfless person she'd ever known, and there was no way he had an evil bone—or drop of evil blood—in his body. He hadn't passed on anything to their babies because there was nothing to pass on. It was crazy to think that the demon blood could have any effect on her pregnancy.

She wasn't naive. She knew what was out there more than the average person, knew that things really did go bump in the night. She'd seen Azazel in action and felt his evil on a very painful level; but even if he did somehow alter Sam's DNA, Azazel was dead now and so was his power. Sam killed him. End of story.

She reached out and squeezed Sam's shoulder hard, getting his attention. "I know what you're thinking. Stop," she commanded, holding his gaze.

He gave her the flash of a smile that didn't reach his eyes and a half-assed nod.

"Sam, everything will be okay."

He looked away, but not before she could see the doubt in his eyes.

**XXXXXXXX**

Once TJ was situated in a room, drafty hospital gown on and IV poked and taped onto the back of her hand, Sam texted TJ's room number to Dean. It wasn't a private room, but the other patient in the room was a lady that looked to be a hundred years old, and she was asleep.

TJ had the farthest bed from the door, the one nearest the window. She ate the last of the saltines and apple that Dr. Williams had ordered for her, but she couldn't handle the plain vanilla yogurt just yet. So far, her stomach hadn't rebelled, but she didn't want to test it by trying the yogurt. She really didn't want to throw up in front of Sam. She was getting tired and the bump on her head was starting to ache more, but she didn't say anything because she didn't want him to feel guilty.

"You okay?" he asked, brow furrowed.

The yogurt sat on the overbed table along with the remnants of the crackers and apple. She pushed the table away.

He eyed the yogurt and the crease in his brow deepened, but he didn't say anything. He seemed to know that he shouldn't try to coax her into eating more, although it was clear he wanted her to.

She turned onto her side, pulling the sheet and beige blanket up over her shoulder, feeling chilled. "Yeah. I'm okay."

He gently swept a strand of hair away from her forehead with his thumb, careful not to touch her temple where it was sore, and gave her a smile that was both indulgent and skeptical. "You're a sucky liar...sometimes."

She was sorry for fibbing to him. She'd kept a lot from him, although she hadn't really meant to. She reached out of her blanketed cocoon for his hand and felt the warm weight of it in hers. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the nausea and dizziness. But it's not like I really wanted to acknowledge it myself, you know? I think I was kind of in denial and I didn't want you to worry."

An errant lock of his own shaggy hair fell forward onto his cheek, and he impatiently brushed it away, completely unaware of the effect it had on her.

Her stomach flipped in a good way, her body never failing to react to those little things about him that were so attractive and so damn _hot_. She loved his hair—the thick texture of it, the rich brown color, the irreverent length, the spicy smell of it. It was much prettier than her own hair would ever be, but she'd never tell him that. He would be horrified if he knew she thought his hair was pretty. It wasn't that it was girlie. Instead, it accentuated his masculinity. It was a nice balance, a nice contrast to the strong, sharp planes of his face.

"You and Dean," he stated, completely oblivious to her comprehensive critique of his hair. "You two are gonna give me a heart attack trying to keep me from worrying."

She felt a pang of guilt, knowing how stressed he'd been last Christmas when Dean had a life-threatening case of pneumonia as a result of broken ribs. Back then, Dean didn't want Sam to know about his injury because he was trying to protect Sam, so he'd kept quiet and gotten very sick in the process.

Sam's mouth flattened into a straight line. "I would have known something was wrong if I'd been here." He'd said similar words about Dean. Sam had been so busy with school and work that he hadn't noticed there was anything wrong with Dean. Now he was in almost the same situation with TJ, only this time the problem was that he lived five hundred miles away.

She squeezed his hand. "Yes. You're a horrible person. You should feel extremely guilty. How dare you go off to law school at Berkeley and pursue your dream? I mean, how will we all survive without you?"

He gave her a dry look and she smirked, unrepentant.

Dean poked his head in the door then, and Sam let go of her hand and waved him in. TJ felt bad that Dean had been waiting all this time in the ER waiting room. His expressive brows were arched into a vee of concern and his manner was a little wary. He flashed Sam a subtle, questioning look, and TJ knew he was wondering if Sam had told her everything about the demon blood.

Sam answered Dean's look with one of his own, and Dean seemed to relax a fraction. It was like they'd had an entire conversation without saying a word.

"So, you gonna be okay?" Dean asked her. "Is the baby okay?"

She looked at Sam and smiled with encouragement. He should be the one to tell Dean.

Sam cleared his throat, his face unreadable, and she didn't like the change in his demeanor. His delight at the news of the twins had dampened after he'd heard all the things that could go wrong from Dr. Williams. He hesitated and then finally spoke. "Uh, babies," he corrected. "We're having twins."

Dean's face broke into a surprised grin that was so big it could fuel electricity for all of California. "Ha, ha, Sammy! You're a friggin' stud." He clapped Sam on the shoulder and then gave it a squeeze.

TJ laughed. "That's what I said."

Sam was still reserved. "Actually, identical twins are pretty much a chance of nature when an egg splits. Fraternal twins are a result of the mother releasing two eggs at the same time during ovulation, which can be an inherited trait, but not always. The father has nothing to do with it."

"Too much info, Dr. McNerdy. I prefer to think it's the Winchester mojo at work."

Sam paled at that and his jaw went rigid. TJ shot Dean a look and vaguely shook her head. Sam didn't need any reminders, however innocuous or unintentional, of everything he feared.

Dean subtly rolled his eyes, obviously annoyed with Sam's preoccupation with the demon blood. Dean could convey so much with just his facial expressions, just like Sam could convey all the sensitivity and sympathy in the world with his puppy-dog eyes. TJ wondered if her babies would inherit those Winchester traits. She hoped so, and she hoped they got the Winchester good looks too, along with Sam's polite, nice-guy charm and Dean's self-confidence.

She mused, not for the first time, how she'd gotten so lucky. Sam could have almost any girl he set his sights on, but for some reason, he chose her. She was more confident in herself now, even liked the woman she was becoming and didn't hate herself like she did when she'd been in the clutches of the bulimia, but she wasn't delusional. Sam made her feel attractive—sexy even—but she would never be a classic beauty. She had other qualities that made up for it, but she would never be beautiful (or even pretty, really) in the normal sense of the word.

Okay. Maybe she'd ended up wantonly throwing herself at him at one point back when they were still just friends, but since when did having sex with a guy ever make him fall in love with a girl? Why buy the cow when you could get the milk for free, right? But she had no doubt that he loved her and loved her deeply. He told her so in a hundred ways whenever they were together—a simple, solicitous glance in her direction, a light touch with his gentle hand, a soft kiss to the nape of her neck.

And, mercy, how she loved him back. She would die for him. Now, a part of him was growing inside her, two tiny lives that might be his only chance at ever having biological children. She would die for them too, and she would do everything in her power to make sure they were born healthy.

Sam's quiet voice broke into her thoughts. "It's making her sick."

Dean frowned. "What is?"

"The Winchester _mojo,_" Sam said bitterly. "It's making her sick."

That made TJ angry. "You're being ridiculous. It's the _hormones_ that are makin' me sick—too much too soon. It'll get better in the second trimester."

He was gripping the wheels of his chair, his broad shoulders stiff and unyielding, his mouth tight.

Good Lord, he could be stubborn. She prayed that the nausea would go away and that the rest of her pregnancy would be easy, because it was clear that anything that went wrong he would blame on himself and the stupid demon blood. She wondered if there would ever come a time when he didn't carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, even though he'd already saved it once—literally.

"I'm going to stay here tonight," he said to Dean. "You don't have to stay. Thanks, you know, for waiting."

As much as she didn't relish the thought of staying the night in the hospital with Geriatric Sleeping Beauty in the other bed as her only companion, she knew it wouldn't be very comfortable for Sam to stay. He would either have to sit in his chair all night or in the meager chair sitting next to her bed, neither of which would be good for him. There was always the ever-present worry that he might develop a pressure sore from sitting in one place for too long, and he needed to be where he could stretch out his long body and give it a rest. He tended to have more trouble with spasticity, too, when he was overly tired.

The look on Dean's face said he was thinking the same thing. "Sam—"

"Don't start, Dean. I'm staying." Sam's voice was civil, but there was no mistaking the hardheaded determination behind it.

Dean glanced at TJ, a _"you try"_ expression on his face. She stretched her arm out from under her blanket and laid her hand on Sam's arm. "You should go. I'm just gonna watch TV and probably go to sleep."

"I'm not leaving you alone."

She smiled. "I'm not alone. I've got Gladys over there to keep me company. Remember?"

"No."

"I'm twenty-four years old, Sam. I've stayed by myself before."

"I'm not going to debate this."

Dean was clearly not pleased, but TJ knew Sam wouldn't budge. He was the same way when Dean had been in the hospital and wouldn't leave until he knew Dean was out of the woods. He paid the price for it physically too, suffering the worst attack of spasticity in his legs and back that she'd ever seen.

Dean sighed, eyes on Sam. "You call me if you need me to come get you."

"I will," Sam replied.

"I don't care how late it is."

Sam gave an efficient nod. "I will."

Dean shot him a look of warning that said he'd better and then walked over to TJ and patted her shoulder. "You take care of yourself. Okay?"

"'Kay."

He bent down and gave her a brotherly peck on the cheek. "And those babies," he said softly. "Congratulations."

Sam's brows went up and TJ smiled. Dean really was a sweet guy underneath his cocky exterior.

Dean ignored Sam's obvious surprise at his show of affection and kept his focus on TJ. "Call me if _you_ need anything."

"I will. Thanks, Dean."

He nodded and the show of sensitivity was over. "You want me to pull this shut?" he asked, referring to the privacy curtain that would separate TJ's bed from her neighbor's.

"Please."

Sam and TJ both watched him pull it closed, surrounding the little area around TJ's bed and giving the illusion that they were alone. "Later," Dean said from behind the curtain.

"Later," Sam replied. He and TJ were both quiet as Dean's footsteps retreated from the room.

Once Dean was gone, TJ scooted over to the far edge of the bed, pulled back the covers, and patted the mattress. "Here," she said to Sam. "Come get in bed with me."

"It's small."

"We'll fit," she assured. "We've done it before." They had watched movies together last year in her hospital bed when she was recovering from the ruptured esophagus.

He took off his shoes, then locked the brakes on his wheelchair and pressed down on the slightly higher mattress of the bed with one hand and the frame of his chair with the other, transferring himself to the bed. He always made it look so easy, but the way his muscles corded and bulged in his arms and shoulders was an indication of how much upper-body strength it took. After he was sitting on the bed, he picked up his legs, one at a time, and adjusted them to where they were stretched out.

He always wore his jeans a size larger than he needed to so they'd be loose and easier on his skin, and when he scooted himself back so he could relax, he accidentally slid his jeans a little bit off his hips. He lay back and rolled to one side, tugging on the denim waistband, and then to the other side until he had shimmied the jeans back on. He couldn't lift his hips, so it made it harder to get his pants on and off. It was one of the many things he had to do differently, but he never fussed about it. He made it seem like he'd never done it any other way.

Once he was situated, she snuggled up close to him on her side because there wasn't room for both of them to lie flat on their backs. She rested her head on his shoulder and would have been perfectly content to stay like that all night, but it wouldn't be good for him. When it was time to go to sleep (if a nurse didn't kick him out of her bed first), she would insist that he sleep on his side with a pillow between his legs so he wouldn't get a pressure ulcer on his tush.

He wrapped his arm around her. "You warm enough?"

The thin hospital gown and the fact that her legs and feet were bare didn't do much to warm her, despite Sam's considerable body heat.

He didn't wait for her to respond. He reached forward and pulled the covers up over her. She could feel the hard, powerful muscles of his chest and shoulder contracting under her cheek as he moved. He left his own jeans-clad legs and socked feet exposed, then sank back against the inclined mattress and shared her pillow when he was done. "Better?" he asked.

"Yeah. Thanks."

"You wanna watch TV?"

"Not right now. I think there's some things we need to talk about."

"Yeah. I guess we do."

"I think we should get married as soon as possible," she said, "like whenever I get out of the hospital. Like, this week."

"No."

She was a little surprised by his quick and adamant refusal. "Why not? We can go to a justice of the peace or whatever and make it legal."

"Uh-uh."

"Why?" she asked, looking up at him.

He met her eyes. "Is that really the kind of wedding you want?"

She paused and looked down. No, it wasn't, but it wasn't like she had much choice. "If we do it this week, you're already here. You won't have to make a special trip back."

"Uh-uh. We can get married over Thanksgiving or Christmas, when we're both on break and Fern, Vern, and Bobby can be here."

She was quiet for a moment. "I...I don't want to look pregnant in my wedding pictures."

He huffed a small laugh. "TJ, your stomach is still flat. I doubt you'll be showing that much by Thanksgiving."

"What if you're wrong? What if I start getting really big because it's twins?"

"Okay. What if you do? Just get a dress that hides it. Aren't women good at that kind of thing?"

She snorted. "I wish. Let's just do it this week."

"Your mom will kill us if we get married without her there."

"She's gonna kill us anyway," TJ asserted. "And if she doesn't, my dad will—or he'll kill you for knocking me up."

"Why are you so afraid of how they'll react? I don't believe they'll freak out like you think. Besides, we're engaged."

She shook her head. "You don't understand. They seem like they're cool about stuff, but there's certain things they're still old-fashioned about—like their daughter getting pregnant out of wedlock. Where I come from, sex before marriage is a big no-no. There's nine churches in Moss Fork, and it's only got a population of four thousand. I mean, people _do _it, of course, but everyone pretends they don't. Thank the Lord my mamaw's not alive. This would have killed her." She ignored the irony of that statement.

"Look, if you get married and don't include your parents, it'll just compound the problem. I think Fern would be crushed. You're their only daughter, their only child, TJ. You can't leave them out of this."

She thought about that. She knew he was right, but she wasn't ready to concede just yet. "Why do you care whether we have a real wedding or not? You're a guy. Guys are supposed to hate planning weddings. I figured you'd be glad not to have to deal with that stuff."

He shrugged. "Well, we're not talking about a royal wedding, are we? I was thinking just something small with friends and family."

"Yeah, I guess."

It was hard to explain to him why she just wanted to get it over with. She was elated that she was pregnant, knew she'd been blessed with a miracle, but it was all overwhelming and kind of scary, and a small part of her was ashamed. She didn't want to face her parents.

She was sort of snobby about this sort of thing. Getting knocked up was what people in her Podunk hometown did because they didn't have anything better to do or didn't know any better. She had escaped from Moss Fork and found something more exciting, had broadened her horizons. But she wasn't really any better than those she looked down her nose at after all, was she?

Sam wouldn't understand, and she didn't expect him to. There was a strange culture in small rural towns like Moss Fork, a dichotomy of wanting to get the hell out, and, at the same time, fighting the stereotype that everyone there was a dumb hillbilly. It was okay for her to talk about it with disdain because she was from there, but God help any outsider who insulted it.

"TJ, I..." He trailed off, hesitating.

She leaned her head back to see him better. "What?"

He cleared his throat. "My leg braces are at Berkeley."

She frowned, not understanding.

"I want to be able to stand up next to you when we get married."

"Oh." Of course he would want that—and she wanted it too. She almost slapped herself on the forehead. Suddenly, all her snooty hang-ups seemed trivial and died a quick death. "Okay," she said, hugging him.

He chuckled, and she loved the way his chest rumbled. "'Okay'?" he questioned. "You're giving in that easily?"

"I think your wanting to stand up trumps my baby bump showing." She felt his arms tighten around her and savored it for a moment. Then she started to plan. "So, let's do it over Thanksgiving. I think my mom gets a week off from her teaching job. We'll do something small, like you said. I haven't been to my church here in San Diego in a while, but we can have it there if it's not booked up."

She knew she shouldn't do it, but she couldn't resist. She looked up at him and tried to sound innocent. "It won't be a problem for you, right? I mean, because of the demon blood. You won't go up in flames or get struck by lightning if you step foot in a church?"

He gave her a spectacular bitchface.

She couldn't keep from grinning. "Just makin' sure."

"That's not funny."

"No? Inappropriate?"

His mouth tightened, jaw like iron.

"Oh, Lord. You're no fun."

He removed his arms from around her and folded them across his chest. "It's not funny, TJ."

"Sorry."

"You're not."

She kissed his cheek. "I am."

He still didn't budge, so she kissed his neck just below his earlobe and then flicked her tongue in his ear, tickling it.

He hunched away and gave a surprised laugh, dimples coming out of their sulk. She giggled, and he wrapped his arms around her again, pulling her to him. She resumed her rightful place with her head on his shoulder, her arm resting across his ribs.

There was resignation and a little humor in his voice. "You're kind of hard to stay mad at."

She huffed. "Like I could ever stay mad at _you_. I mean, hello? Wrongly-accused slut here. I should have milked that for at least a day or two."

"Yeah, you probably should have, but don't worry. I'm mad enough at myself for the both of us."

She gave him another hug. "Don't be."

He kissed the top of her head.

Her mind started going over things, making a mental list of everything that needed to be done. Even a small wedding required some planning. And there was still the issue of telling her parents.

As if he'd read her mind, he pulled out his cell phone from his pocket and offered it to her. "Call them."

"Who?"

There was an eye roll in his voice. "Your parents."

"I'm too tired."

"Just get it over with."

"Let's watch TV."

"TJ." He said her name in a chiding voice.

She took the phone with a sigh.

"Your mom is in my favorites. Just scroll down to her name."

She rose up, bracing herself with her arm, and looked at him. "You have my mom in your favorites?"

"She's been in there for a long time. She and I got to be pretty close when you were in the hospital before."

"How often do you talk to her?"

He half-shrugged. "Once a week, sometimes more."

She raised her eyebrows. "Are you serious? How come I never knew that?"

He gave her a cocky smile, dimples deep. "You never asked."

She was a little miffed. "I don't believe it. You've been givin' her reports on me," she accused.

His smile morphed into a teasing one and he raised his brows. "It's not all about you, TJ. We talk about other stuff."

"Like what?"

"None of your business," he said with a laugh and then, after a moment, grew more serious. "Call your parents and be honest with them. They'll understand."

She lay back down and, with a long sigh of resignation, pressed her mom's name on his phone.

Her mom answered on the third ring. _"Hey, Sam. What's up, hon?"_

TJ cleared her throat, her stomach in a knot. "Hey, Mom. It's me. I'm on Sam's phone."

"_Oh, TJ! Hey, honey. What are you doin' with Sam's phone? I didn't know y'all were getting together this weekend."_

"Yeah. Um, it was kind of spur of the moment."

"_Oh?" Her mom sounded a little suspicious. "Well, how you doin', sugar? It's been awhile." _

It had been. They usually talked almost every day, but TJ hadn't called since Sam came home. She hadn't been ready to tell her parents about the pregnancy and didn't want to have to skirt around it in conversation.

A few uncomfortable seconds ticked by as TJ tried to figure out what to say. Sam gave her a reassuring squeeze.

"_TJ? You still there? Did I lose you?"_

"No. I'm here, Mama. Is—is Daddy there?"

"_Yeah. I think he's asleep on the divan. Let me get him."_

A second later, her dad entered the conversation on an extension sounding a little sleepy. _"Hey, dumplin'. What's a goin' on?" _

TJ's eyes welled at her dad's greeting. He still thought of her as his little girl, and she was about to shatter that. His little girl was going to be a mother.

"Hi, Daddy." She hesitated again, full of dread.

"_Is something wrong, hon?"_ her mom asked cautiously.

"No. Well, not really."

"_What does that mean?"_ said Vern. He sounded more awake.

TJ was coiled tightly, and she let out a long breath. _Oh, fuck it,_ she said to herself. It was time to get this over with. "I'm pregnant," she stated bluntly. "With twins."

Her declaration was met with a resounding silence.

_**TBC**_

_**A/N: Next chapter TJ and Sam get married, so stay tuned...  
**_


	7. Chapter 7

**_Author's note: Thanks to skzb, sallyloveslinus, and catsluver, who are the most amazing betas on the planet. Thanks to MJ for your reviews, and to all of you who read, alert, and review this story. You are well loved. Also, just a reminder: I post every Wednesday unless I tell you guys otherwise._  
**

**_Last but not least, Happy July 4th for all you Americans out there, and Happy Wednesday to all the rest of you lovely readers from other countries!  
_**

**Chapter 7**

The telephone line was completely quiet, not even the sound of breathing or a TV in the background, and TJ wondered if the line had gone dead. "Mama? Daddy? Y'all still there?"

Her mother's voice was quiet, a slight tremble in it. _"Oh, TJ."_

TJ's hand tightened on Sam's phone. She couldn't tell if that was a disappointed "Oh, TJ" or maybe some other emotion she couldn't identify. "Um, I'm sorry. I know it's a shock. I—"

"_Oh, honey. It's a miracle and a blessing," _said Fern. There was a smile in her voice now. _"Oh, my Lord. Twins!"_

TJ felt some of the tension leave her body and loved her mom more in that moment than she ever had. She'd had a long talk with her mom about how Sam's paralysis would make it difficult for them to have biological children. Her mother knew just how much of a miracle this really was, especially since her parents were no strangers to the pain and frustration of infertility. They'd long since given up on having children when TJ had landed on their doorstep.

"_You gonna name one of 'em after me?"_ asked Vern. He was teasing her and didn't sound disappointed or disapproving at all.

TJ rolled her eyes and let out a relieved giggle. "What if they're girls?"

"_Then you could name one Vernetta and one Vernonella. Hell, those'd make good twin names."_

"Ugh. Sorry, Daddy, but our family doesn't exactly have the best history for naming their offspring."

"_Just somethin' to keep in mind." _There was a pause, and then he asked,_ "So when are y'all gonna tie the knot?"_

She knew it wouldn't take long to get around to that. "We're thinking Thanksgiving, if y'all can make it."

"_Nothing could keep us away, hon. You know that," _said her mom.

They talked about the details then, about what needed to be done for the wedding. TJ reluctantly told them about how severe her nausea was, about her trip to the hospital, and most of what Dr. Williams had told them—all except the really scary stuff that TJ was sure wasn't going to happen anyway. Her mother was immediately worried and wanted to catch the next flight to San Diego, but TJ assured her that she would be okay and that the anti-nausea medication should be kicking in soon. She hoped that was the case, that the medicine would actually work. Dr. Williams hadn't exactly guaranteed that it would.

After TJ told her parents everything, they wanted to talk to Sam. She handed the phone to him and listened to his side of the conversation. There were lots of laughs and lots of "Uh, yeahs," "I wills," and "I promises," and then he ended the call.

"Well, that went better than I thought it would," said TJ.

"Told you. Feel better now?"

"Yeah." She did. Immensely. Sam had been right. Her parents were really understanding. It seemed she was the only one with the hang-up about being a pregnant bride.

She and Sam were quiet after that, and she felt so relaxed she started to drift off to sleep.

"TJ?" Sam said softly.

"Hmm?"

"I'm not going back. I'm gonna withdraw from Berkeley."

She was jolted back to wakefulness and sat up, bracing herself with one hand on the mattress and ignoring the slight dizziness she felt at the sudden change in position. "What?"

"You being pregnant, the hard time you're having—I can't go off to Berkeley and pick up where I left off. I can't leave you to deal with all of this alone."

"Uh-uh. No." She shook her head adamantly.

"I need—I want to keep..." He trailed off and looked away, as if he knew what he'd started to say would piss her off.

"You wanna keep an eye on me. You think I need a babysitter."

He shifted his gaze back to her, expression direct. "To be honest, yes."

She almost crossed her arms in annoyance but then remembered she had the IV and thought better of it. "Well, I don't."

"Well, what am I supposed to think, TJ? First, you hid the nausea from me, even though you thought you might be _dying_—"

"I was scared and in denial! I hid it from myself, too."

He held up a hand. "Let me finish." He closed his eyes for a second, as if calling on some remote reserve of patience. "Then you hid the fact that you didn't keep the prenatal vitamins down—"

"I did keep them down!"

He looked dubious.

"Okay. I kept one down."

He raised a brow.

She lowered her eyes and felt a bit of heat spread up her neck to her ears. "Okay. I threw up a couple of hours later."

Eye roll.

She felt defensive. "I don't know that the vitamin came back up. For all I know, it got digested and all I threw up were the ginger cookies I ate."

He didn't look convinced. "What about the dizziness?" he challenged.

"It wasn't really that bad."

"TJ," he admonished.

"It wasn't! Today was the worst it's ever been."

"Oh, that's good to know," he said sarcastically. "The dizziness you've been having for the past _month and a half_ was mild." He scoffed. "Why worry about it if you don't face-plant, right?"

Now she was ticked. "I thought it would go away!"

He just looked at her, let her words hover in the air, and she realized how lame an excuse it was.

"I'm not going back, TJ. It's too far away."

"Fine," she fumed. "Forget your dream. Screw it. So what are you gonna do, get your old bookkeeping job back at Shorty's? Oh, I know. You can be a fuckin' clerk for the rest of your life. Who knows?" she mocked. "Maybe someday you'll get promoted to paralegal. How exciting!"

He exhaled a harsh breath, jaw cementing. "There are other options. Maybe I can transfer to UC San Diego. Maybe they'll take me for the spring semester."

"Yeah. _Maybe_," she echoed cynically, "but not if you leave Berkeley in the middle of your first semester. They're gonna think you're a flake, Sam, that you can't hack it."

He glanced away, his jaw still clenched.

"Okay. Look, I _swear _that I won't keep anything from you."

He snorted with derision, still not looking at her. "I've heard that before."

She felt a surge of anger. "Yeah? Well, you're one to talk, Mr. I-Have-Demon-Blood-In-Me!"

He glanced pointedly in the direction of the other patient bed. "You wanna keep your voice down?" he hissed.

She ignored him. "It's not like you were exactly forthcoming about that, were you?"

His brow wrinkled and there was hurt in his eyes. He kept his voice low but intense. "It's no big deal, remember? It's not like you're taking it seriously. It's a joke, right?"

"Right. It's not a big deal because I don't even think it's in you anymore. You're not evil, Sam, and you never will be. But the point is, you kept it from me, so don't get all self-righteous because I didn't tell you about the nausea."

"And the dizziness and the fatigue," he reminded.

"I told you I was tired many times."

"You didn't tell me how extreme it was."

She huffed, exasperated. "I...won't...hide...anything...anymore." She said the words with precision and heartfelt resolve, trying to make them penetrate his stubborn, thick skull.

His eyes were locked on her, studying and assessing.

"At least give Berkeley another month," she pleaded, "just until the wedding. Give the nausea medication a chance to work and we'll go from there. You're doing so well at Berkeley, Sam. For God's sake, don't throw it all away."

He was quiet, still staring at her. Finally, after what seemed like forever, he spoke. "I promised your parents, TJ. I promised them that I would look out for you, that I would take care of you."

She rolled her eyes. "I don't need to be taken care of. I can take care of myself. Besides, it's not just me anymore. I promise you I will do everything in my power to be healthy so that these babies are healthy. I won't do anything to jeopardize them."

He looked serious, as if weighing his next words. "Okay. I'll go back on one condition."

She smiled, elated and relieved that she'd won, at least for the time being. "What?"

"I want you to move back into the apartment."

Her smile fell. He was talking about his and Dean's apartment. What he left unsaid was that he didn't trust her, that Dean would be there and could be Sam's eyes and ears. Dean would be able to keep tabs on her.

She was irritated, but she couldn't really blame him. She hadn't done a very good job of taking care of herself over the past few months or of being honest. She would have to work on building his trust again. "Fine. I guess the jig is up, anyway. It's not like my parents would be uncomfortable with me living there in light of what I just told them today."

The corners of his mouth curved upward. "Probably not."

She loved how the slightest movement of his mouth caused his dimples to show. He put his arm around her, and she lay back down, suddenly exhausted.

"But if you get sicker, TJ, the deal is off. I'm coming back," he warned. "And if I find out you're keeping anything from me or downplaying your condition, I'm leaving, too. Got it?"

"Got it," she said with a yawn. "Don't worry. Everything's gonna be okay."

She hoped to God she was right.

**XXXXXXXX**

TJ awoke with the familiar nausea that still plagued her some mornings. It seemed worse this morning, but she told herself it was probably more nerves than the pregnancy. After all, it was the Friday after Thanksgiving—her wedding day.

It was seven-thirty in the morning. Sam was still asleep, lying on his stomach next to her, his face turned toward her and a lock of dark-brown hair on his cheek. Her eyes traveled over his bare, muscular back, taking in the many faded scars marring his otherwise smooth skin. He'd been through so many horrible, painful things in his life, had sacrificed so much. He was a hero—although he would never see himself that way—but only a handful of people would ever know the extent of what he'd done.

His brow was smooth while he slept, and he looked young, almost boyish. She loved to see him at peace, the stress and worry he always carried on his shoulders at bay for the moment. He was so capable, so smart and responsible. He would be a good husband and father, but she was determined to share some of his burden and convince him once and for all that there wasn't an ounce of demon blood or anything else evil in him.

She continued to see Dr. Williams for her prenatal care because both TJ and Sam had been impressed with her when they first met her in the ER. TJ's health had improved drastically, and she was happy to be able to report to Sam that all was going well. She actually kind of gloated about it, taking satisfaction in proving him wrong about the demon blood and that it wasn't affecting her pregnancy. She wasn't even too irritated that he was getting confirmation from Dean each week about her health behind her back.

The anti-nausea med, Promethazine, was working, and while she still fought bouts of nausea, she had stopped throwing up and was able to keep down her iron supplements and prenatal vitamins to stave off the anemia and low blood pressure. She ate pretty healthy most of the time, now that she was able to keep things down. However, Dean had gotten her hooked on cheeseburgers. They weren't exactly nutritious, but at least the beef was full of iron. She hadn't thought she'd be able to stomach the grease, but, surprisingly, the burgers had a settling effect on her stomach and she found herself craving them.

She had moved into Sam and Dean's apartment as Sam stipulated and was going to let the lease on hers go in December. She had a six-month lease that was expiring anyway, so there wouldn't be a penalty. It was a minor thing, but not having a place of her own anymore cemented the fact that she and Sam were merging their lives together. It was kind of weird that she would be living with Dean after the wedding and not Sam, but she didn't want to quit school in the middle of the semester any more than she wanted Sam to.

After a lot of soul searching, she finally decided that since the twins would be born in the spring right before finals, it didn't really make sense for her to continue with school for the upcoming spring semester. There was probably no way she would be able to keep up with classes and take care of two newborns. She would take that semester off and move in with Sam at Berkeley, and they could decide what to do about her school later. Dr. Williams had already recommended a good OB in Berkeley that could take over TJ's case and deliver the twins.

Of course, she could try to get into grad school at Berkeley, but it was one of the very top schools in the nation for science and research, and it would be hard to get accepted, not to mention that she wouldn't have her graduate scholarship and would have to pay the full tuition.

It was a hard choice, but she wasn't giving up. She would finish her master's degree eventually, but the babies and her marriage—holy shit, _her marriage—_had to come first. She wasn't the first woman who had to make such a sacrifice. She'd kind of been scornful of women who gave up their careers for family, but now she understood why they did it.

She would have to wake Sam soon. The wedding was early, at ten-thirty in the morning, because the Methodist church where TJ wanted to have it had been all booked up except for that time. She didn't mind. Since it was a small, informal wedding, it actually made more sense. There was less pressure to have a fancy, expensive reception like there would be with a larger wedding held in the evening. Instead, after the ceremony, they were having a lunch reception at Tapenade, one of the nicest restaurants in San Diego.

The wedding party was small. Gretchen and Heather were bridesmaids, and Bobby was a groomsman. TJ's mother was her matron of honor, and Dean was Sam's best man. TJ's dad would give her away and then join Dean and Bobby as a groomsman.

TJ's thoughts were interrupted by a sudden strong wave of nausea, and she sat up and reached for the saltines that she kept by her bedside, hoping they would stave off the queasiness. She tried to be quiet, but the package rattled loudly. She winced and glanced at Sam.

A sleepy hazel eye popped open.

"Sorry," she said with dismay, even as she compounded her crime by sticking a cracker in her mouth and chewing it loudly. She put her pillow against the wall, since they didn't have a headboard, and leaned back against it.

His brow wrinkled in concern and his voice was husky with sleep. "You're feeling sick?"

She swallowed the wad of cracker in her mouth. "A little. I think it's more nerves."

He raised his head and repositioned it on the edge of his pillow where more of his face showed. The corners of his mouth quirked. "Getting cold feet?"

She smiled. "Yeah. I was thinking about calling Ralph."

"You're hilarious."

She stuck another cracker in her mouth and waited until she'd chewed a bit of it before she spoke. "I think his feelings were hurt," she swallowed the rest of the cracker, "that he didn't get invited to the wedding, especially since he's dating Gretchen."

"You should have invited him."

"It would be weird. Besides, as it is now, there's an even number of bridesmaids and groomsmen. He would be the odd man out—and would you really want him to stand up with you?"

"Uh, probably not."

"Right. So then he would be the only person sitting in the pews watching."

"Maybe he could take pictures or something."

"No way." She was horrified at the thought. She had splurged and hired a professional photographer. She only planned on having one wedding in her life, and she didn't trust just anyone to take pictures of it. She had hired a videographer, too.

Sam reached out and put his large hand on her baby bump, unable to cover it all, although he'd been able to a few weeks ago. "Have you felt anything?"

"I don't think so, but I'm not sure. Sometimes I feel a faint fluttery feeling, but it could just be gas." She was four and a half months pregnant and definitely starting to show. Her belly wasn't as big as some women with twins at that stage, but since it was her first pregnancy and she was a tall girl to begin with, her OB said the size of her belly was normal. The babies—each about the size of a pear—were exactly the size they should be and appeared to be healthy.

Sam smiled, but then his features darkened a bit and he frowned. "I don't want to miss anything."

She placed her hand on top of his. "You won't. You've only got three weeks left and then you're on Christmas break. Then I'll be done with my school soon after, and I'll move to Berkeley with you. You'll have plenty of chances for doing all that prego stuff, like feeling the babies move."

She was sitting Indian style, and he moved his hand down to rest on her knee. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"That you have to leave school."

She shrugged. "I'll be back," she said in her best _Terminator_ impression.

His brow was furrowed and he looked guilty.

"Sam, it'll be okay. I'm just putting things on hold for a while." She stuffed another cracker in her mouth, trying not to show the pang of regret she felt.

He took her hand and squeezed it. "I love you."

"I wuv 'ou, thoo," she said around the now soggy cracker.

He rewarded her with dimples. "So, are you sad? I mean, these are your last hours as a Nelek."

It might not be the modern, feminist thing to do, but she was taking Sam's name. She swallowed the last of the cracker. It felt chalky as it went down her throat, but at least her stomach was starting to settle. "Am I sad? No. I'm gonna keep the Nelek and lose the TJ."

He laughed. "Nelek Winchester?"

"Why not? Most of my friends call me Nelly anyway."

He gave her the puppy-dog look. "I don't want you to lose the TJ. I like it."

She rolled her eyes. "Okay. I guess I'll keep it, then."

His expression changed instantly from puppy-dog to a grin, and she couldn't resist leaning over and kissing him on the cheek. Then she rose up, suddenly all business. "Okay. I'm fixin' to go to my apartment to get dressed. My mom, Gretchen, and Heather are gonna help me."

"Why don't you do it here?"

"So you won't see my dress, silly. It's bad luck if you see it before the ceremony."

"Oh. Right."

She felt a surge of love for him and gave him a more proper kiss on his lips, not caring that she probably had a combination of morning and cracker breath. "See you at the wedding."

He smiled. "See you at the wedding."

**XXXXXXXX**

TJ waited beside her dad at the doors to the church sanctuary, her hand resting in the crook of his elbow. Vernon looked handsome in a black suit and simple black tie, shoulders back and his silver, military-style hair in place. He had such a regal bearing that TJ forgot she was actually almost four inches taller than he was—even more so with her heels on. Since it was an informal morning wedding, there was no need for tuxes. Still, he looked spiffy in his wedding finery. TJ had only seen him dressed up like that once before, at Mamaw's funeral.

TJ wanted to keep things simple and felt silly that she was about to make such a grand entrance, but her mother, Gretchen, and Heather had all insisted on it. This would be the only bit of fanfare. Everything else would be low-key.

Sam and the rest of the wedding party should already be in their places in the sanctuary. The organist—a very talented lady who was able to tame the monstrous pipe organ, the pipes of which spanned the entire back wall of the cathedral-style church—began to play the notes of Pachelbel's Canon in D, a common bridal march. It made TJ's stomach flip-flop in anticipation of what was about to happen.

"I think that's our cue, Daddy," she said with a smile, although she felt a twinge of sadness.

Vernon trained his bright-blue eyes on her, moisture making them shine more than usual. "You look beautiful, dumplin'."

"Thanks, Daddy." She _felt _beautiful. Her wedding dress wasn't the princess dress she'd dreamed of as a naïve girl from Kentucky, but it suited the woman she was now. The ivory satin, above-the-knee, A-line dress was all chic California and hid her baby bump well, but the pale-pink satin jacket, matching pointy Vera Wang heels, and wrist-length, matinee gloves were all Kentucky belle. The jacket was the same length as her dress and also helped to conceal her growing belly, along with the small nosegay of pale-pink roses she carried in one hand.

As a finishing touch, she'd left her legs daringly bare, and they were sexy and shapely, if she did say so herself. She could feel the powder-blue satin garter on her thigh that her mother gave her. Her mother had worn it in her wedding, and it was the "something old and something blue."

She wore a simple pearl necklace that her Aunt Tru and Aunt Joyce had gone in together to buy and sent to her (the something new), and her subtle, elegant pearl earrings were borrowed from Heather.

Her hair was in a simple, loose updo, classy but not too businesslike. A few tendrils had escaped their clasp and fallen around her face because, of course, it wouldn't be _her_ hair if they didn't.

"He's a good man," her dad said quietly. "He'll make you happy."

She felt a huge lump form in her throat, and tears were dangerously close to escaping her eyes. "I know." She took in a deep breath, not wanting to cry. "I'll still be your little girl, though, Daddy. You know I'll always love you."

He looked away as though embarrassed of his strong emotions, unable to speak. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, leaving a bit of soft pink lipstick on it and wiping it away with her gloved hand.

He seemed to master his emotions. "You ready?"

"Yes." She placed her hand back on his arm.

He smiled and opened the double doors to the sanctuary, and the music of the organ was suddenly loud, echoing throughout the almost empty sanctuary.

The photographer was trying to be discreet as he took pictures of her walking down the aisle. She hardly noticed him, all her senses homing in on Sam. He was standing on the left-hand side of the pastor, who was a surprisingly young guy for being the preacher of such a large church.

Sam was at least three inches taller than everyone else in the wedding party, leaning on his forearm crutches for balance. He was tall, dark, and handsome in his simple black suit, and he literally took her breath away. His shaggy hair had been tamed, and his pale-pink tie and matching pocket handkerchief were elegant and distinguished him from Dean and Bobby—although it wasn't like Sam Winchester would ever need anything to make him stand out in a crowd. She was sure he'd endured some good-natured teasing from Dean for wearing pink, but the color coordinated with TJ and looked decidedly tasteful and manly on him. Of course, he would look good in just about anything.

She'd told him not to buy new shoes to wear with his braces. She didn't care if he had on the tennis shoes he wore specifically with the braces, but she noticed he had on black dress shoes instead. He had to wear shoes that were a size larger than what he normally wore to accommodate the plastic part of the brace that fit inside the shoe. He must have bought the dress shoes just for the wedding, along with his suit. Oh, well. Maybe he would get some wear out of them once he was a lawyer—sans pale-pink tie, of course.

She met his eyes and thought she might melt at the gorgeous smile on his face. His dimples were present in all their glory, and his love for her was clearly written on his face. It made her heart swell until she thought it might burst, and she beamed back, hoping that he could see how much she loved him too.

She absently noted that everyone was smiling and saw her bridesmaids looking lovely in their simple black dresses, but she hardly gave them a second thought. She only had eyes for Sam and was drawn to him, this intelligent, funny, kind, wonderful man that was about to become her husband. A part of her still couldn't believe it. It almost seemed too good to be true, like a fairytale, because guys like Sam didn't fall in love with plain-Jane girls like her.

But, by some miracle, he had, and she would never do anything to hurt him. She knew he would give his life to protect her, and she would do the same for him. He'd been through so much and lost so much. He deserved to be happy for the rest of his days, and she was going to make sure that he was.

The ceremony itself went by in a blur—her dad giving her away, lighting the unity candle that Gretchen held for TJ and Sam, TJ handing her bouquet and gloves to her mom, the words of the pastor, she and Sam saying their vows. When it was time to exchange rings, Sam kept a hand on one of his crutches to keep his balance and turned a little toward Dean, holding out his free hand, forearm crutch hanging on his arm.

Dean patted his suit pockets with a look of mock horror, pretending that he'd lost the ring. Sam's brow wrinkled, more in irritation than worry that Dean had lost the ring. Dean finally pulled the ring out of his hanky pocket, a patented Dean-loves-to-torture-Sammy grin on his face.

Sam rolled his eyes while everyone laughed and then turned his attention back to TJ. The feel of his fingers on her skin was warm and reassuring as he slid the gold wedding band onto her finger. The band was simple and complemented her engagement ring. The gold band she placed on his finger was devoid of any ornamentation and fit his long, tapered finger perfectly.

The pastor gave them a congratulatory smile. "I now pronounce you husband and wife. Sam, you may kiss your bride."

Sam braced both hands back on the handgrips of his crutches and then leaned toward her, giving her a sweet, tender kiss that sealed the beginning of their life together. She felt a tiny movement in her belly in that moment and wondered if it was the babies giving their approval. A giggle bubbled up from her chest while Sam's lips were still on hers, and Sam and everyone else laughed with her.

They broke apart, both with huge grins on their faces, and she stood beside him and put her arm around his waist.

"Ladies and gentlemen," said the preacher, "I present to you Mr. and Mrs. Sam Winchester."

Everyone erupted into applause and began to hug them. The whole thing didn't last more than fifteen or twenty minutes, but it was profoundly beautiful and moving. It was the perfect beginning for her life with Sam, and she felt like she was on top of the world. She had just married the guy of her dreams, and _nothing_ would ever come between them.

**XXXXXXXX**

Two weeks after the wedding, TJ felt like shit. She was almost five months pregnant and was supposed to go for a checkup with Dr. Williams tomorrow, but she wasn't even sure she could wait that long. Her nausea had gotten worse in the last few days, despite the medication she was on, and she was getting headaches and feeling dizzy again.

It was the worst possible time. Sam was in the middle of his finals at Berkeley this week and still had a week to go, and she was about to begin her own final exams. She had been helping Dr. Rostom conduct review sessions for his classes and trying to study for her own classes, but the constant ache in her head made it difficult.

She kept telling herself she just needed to make it through one more week, but while her symptoms were similar to the hyperemesis, she had a gut feeling something else was wrong. Despite her lack of appetite and vomiting, she seemed to have gained weight, and everything was beginning to swell, even her face and hands. Dean teased her about eating too many cheeseburgers, but she didn't correct him because she knew he would tell Sam that something was wrong.

It made her stomach twist into a knot, knowing she was holding things back from Sam (okay, lying, actually), but he would freak and come back to San Diego, and that would be disastrous during his finals. If, by some long shot, she managed to talk him into staying, she was afraid he would feel guilty and be worried about her, distracting him from his finals. Either scenario wasn't good.

She told herself she just had to downplay things for one more week, and then she could be honest. Besides, hopefully Dr. Williams would know what the problem was tomorrow and give her some kind of medication to fix it. Maybe by the time Sam was done with his finals and came home, she would be feeling better again.

It was almost time for Dean to come home from work, and TJ wished he would hurry. She'd felt so bad today that Dr. Rostom sent her home early. She had been lying in bed for a couple of hours, dozing fitfully in the almost pitch-black room she shared with Sam when he was home, trying to ease her aching head. It seemed to be getting worse by the minute, however, and she was rethinking not telling Dean what was going on. Maybe she could talk him into not telling Sam. If her head didn't stop pounding, she wasn't going to have a choice. She felt so bad that a trip to the ER sounded like a relief.

Heather had texted her earlier in the day saying that she was off tonight and was coming over. TJ hoped Heather might know something that would alleviate her discomfort without having to make a trip to the ER.

She felt her wedding and engagement rings digging into the flesh of her finger, and it almost brought her to tears. Her hands and arms had swollen so much and so quickly the rings had become embedded, and she couldn't get them off. If she couldn't get the swelling to go down soon, she would have to have a jeweler cut the rings off. The thought was disheartening.

She was lying on her side, pinching the bridge of her nose like she'd seen Sam do when he had a headache. Rocket was lying in bed with her, his body molded protectively to her back. She reached a shaky hand behind her to pet him, and he licked her fingers. Suddenly, she felt him raise his head up, ears pricking, and she knew he heard either Dean's or Heather's keys turning in the front door lock.

TJ hoped it was Heather and that she would have a chance to talk to her about everything before Dean got home. She inhaled a deep breath and slowly sat up. Rocket sat up with her. The pounding in her head ratcheted up a notch at the movement, making her dizzy and causing her stomach to rebel. She placed a hand on her forehead. "This fucking sucks."

Rocket nudged her other hand with his nose in sympathy.

She continued the battle to get up off the bed, moving even slower to give her body time to adjust to standing up, and made her way to the door. As soon as she opened it, Rocket shot out and galloped down the hallway, then came running back a few seconds later. She was moving in slow motion down the hall, fighting dizziness and nausea with every step, and could hear both Dean and Heather in the living room. Rocket kept running to the living area and then back to her, whining intermittently.

She could hear Dean and Heather arguing in heated tones. She realized with amazement that Rocket was trying to get them to help her, but their argument was too intense to pay attention to him. TJ winced, both at the pain in her head and at the fact that Heather and Dean had been arguing a lot lately. She'd heard snippets of their conversations (although she honestly and truly hadn't been trying to eavesdrop) and knew it was about Dean's occasional hunts and the fact that Heather wanted him to train her to hunt with him. Naturally, he was opposed because he was afraid Heather would get hurt.

"Dean," Heather was saying, "you've said yourself there are women hunters. What about your friends Jo and Ellen? They sound very capable and good at what they do."

"They've been in the life for years, Heather—Jo her whole life. It's all she knows. You're different."

"Oh, right. I'm different because you think I had it easy growing up, that I'm too soft?"

Dean was quiet, and his silence said that was exactly what he thought.

TJ knew that would piss Heather off royally, so she decided it was a good time to intervene before things escalated. She emerged from the hallway, leaning on the threshold for support. "Hey, y'all," she said hoarsely, barely speaking above a whisper. Anything more would make her head hurt worse.

Dean and Heather were in a stalemate, eyes locked on each other and identical looks of stubborn anger on their faces. It didn't appear they'd heard TJ. Heather was the first to break the silence. "Fine. If you won't teach me, I'll find someone who will."

"Right. Like who?"

"I don't know. Maybe Bobby will."

Dean snorted. "No fucking way."

Her jaw clenched in fury, a rare showing for the usually laid-back Heather. The expression on her face was as fiery as her red hair. "Then maybe I'll find Ellen and Jo. Maybe since they're women, they won't be so pigheaded and chauvinistic!"

"Hey, y'all," TJ tried again, this time using all her strength to speak louder.

It worked. Heather and Dean both turned toward her, both surprised to see her standing there. TJ figured she must look as bad as she felt because Dean immediately abandoned the argument once he got a good look at her.

His brows sort of arched and furrowed at the same time in that unique, expressive way of his. "TJ," he barked with concern, "what's wrong?"

"I don't...feel so good."

He was next to her in three long strides, putting his arm around her for support. "Tell me something I don't know."

Heather immediately slipped into paramedic mode. "Get her to the sofa."

Dean obeyed, helping TJ over to the sofa. Once she was sitting down, Heather took her hands and looked them over. "How long have your hands and arms been swollen like this?"

"This bad? Couple of days, maybe."

"Do you have a headache?"

"Yeah."

"What about dizziness?"

"Yeah."

"Any other symptoms?"

"Sometimes my vision blurs and I've thrown up a few times."

Dean's expression was stormy. "Dammit, TJ. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I thought it was the hyperemesis, and I have an appointment with Dr. Williams tomorrow. I figured she'd tell me what was going on. I thought it could wait, but everything's been worse today."

"And you didn't want me to tell Sam," he accused.

She met his eyes, trying not to wince at the persistent pain in her head. "No. I didn't want him to know, and I still don't."

He shook his head. "Not an option. He'll kill me if I keep this from him."

"You can't tell him, Dean. He's in the middle of finals."

He scrubbed a hand over his face.

"Please. He's just got a few more days to go."

She could tell he was torn, that he knew how the news that TJ had taken a turn for the worse would affect Sam. He was right, though. Sam would probably kill him (kill them both, for that matter) for not telling. TJ felt bad for putting Dean in that position, but she really didn't have a choice. "Please, Dean."

Heather broke into the conversation, her pale-blue eyes serious and filled with concern. "Look, TJ. I think you might have preeclampsia."

TJ's heart sank. She'd read about preeclampsia in one of her pregnancy books. What the hell? Was she gonna get every damn thing that could go wrong in a pregnancy?

"What's that?" asked Dean.

"It means her blood pressure could be dangerously high. It's not something to fool around with. It can cause seizures." She placed her hands on TJ's shoulders. "Let's get you checked out and see how serious it is. We can argue whether to tell Sam once we know for sure what's going on."

TJ glanced at Dean, waiting to see if he would agree. He gave a curt, reluctant nod.

A few minutes later, TJ found herself in the back seat of the Impala on the way to the hospital—again. Her cell phone rang, and she dug it out of her purse. She had a hard time focusing on the screen because her vision was a little blurred, but she was finally able to make out that it was Sam. With a pang of remorse, she pressed the button to decline the call. She couldn't talk to him right now, didn't think she could manage to sound normal under the circumstances.

She looked up to find Dean's knowing, disapproving gaze on her in the rearview mirror and glanced away, guilty and ashamed.

_**TBC**_


	8. Chapter 8

**_A/N: Thanks to skzb and catsluver for keeping me in line and making me a better writer. :)__ Also, thanks to those of you who signed in as guests to review my story. Your reviews are very much appreciated and spur me on.  
_**

**Chapter 8**

The OB on call, a curmudgeonly man named Dr. Fenton, admitted TJ to the hospital immediately, and she was again put in a semi-private room. This time, to her relief, the other bed was empty, at least for the time being. Her bed was the closest to the door.

She'd been examined by Dr. Fenton, and a nurse had drawn her blood and asked her to give a urine sample. She had an automatic blood pressure cuff on her upper arm that squeezed her arm periodically and a pulse ox clip on her finger. Both devices were connected with cords to a monitor that showed her heart rate, oxygen saturation, and blood pressure.

They'd done a nonstress test and biophysical profile of the babies to monitor them and measure the volume of amniotic fluid. TJ had also been started on an IV with an antihypertensive medication to try to bring down her blood pressure, but she still felt like crap. She was lying with her eyes closed, pretending to be asleep.

The atmosphere in the room was unusually quiet, except for Dean's booted footsteps. He'd been pacing off and on and fidgeting. It was a few hours since they arrived at the hospital, well into the evening. He and Heather had been with TJ almost the whole time in her room, and they'd all been waiting what seemed like forever for someone to come tell them what was going on.

Finally, there was a sharp knock on the door and TJ opened her eyes. Heather, who was sitting in a chair by the bed reading her Kindle, stuffed it back in her purse and stood. Dean stopped his pacing.

"Come in," called TJ, the pounding in her head surging at the effort it took to say the words.

She was surprised to see Dr. Williams walk in the door instead of Dr. Fenton. Dr. Williams looked less frazzled than usual, and her blond hair was up in an elegant bun instead of sticking out willy-nilly from a barrette. She was wearing clothes that looked kind of dressy, like she'd been out to dinner or something. TJ was instantly afraid because she knew something must be really wrong if Dr. Williams had come in during her off hours.

Dr. Williams approached TJ with a smile that looked sympathetic, and TJ's spirits sank further. The doctor squeezed her hand in greeting. "Hey, sweetie. You can't catch a break, can you?"

TJ cut to the chase. "What's wrong? Are the babies okay?"

Dr. Williams looked at Dean and Heather curiously and then sought approval from TJ before answering.

"This is Dean," TJ informed wearily. "He's Sam's brother—my brother-in-law." She waved a hand at Heather. "This is my good friend Heather. It's okay to talk in front of them."

Dr. Williams nodded. "The babies are fine," she assured. "Their heartbeats are strong and the amniotic fluid volume is normal, which means their blood supply hasn't been affected."

TJ let out a relieved breath, although she knew that wasn't the whole story. "But? Is it preeclampsia?"

"Yes. We're ninety-nine percent sure it's preeclampsia. But, to be honest, preeclampsia usually doesn't happen this early, and it's usually not this sudden and severe. Still, your symptoms are classic. The good news is the health of the babies doesn't seem to be affected, at least not yet. As I said, preeclampsia can dangerously hinder blood flow to the fetuses, but that doesn't seem to be happening in your case."

Heather's arms were folded across her chest and she frowned with worry.

Dean stepped closer to the bed on the opposite side from Dr. Williams and squeezed TJ's shoulder in a show of support. TJ was grateful, but she suddenly wished with all her heart that Sam was there.

Dean's voice sounded gruff. "What did you mean by 'severe'?"

Dr. Williams began to answer Dean's question, but she was speaking to TJ. "Your blood pressure is off the charts. Frankly, I don't know how you've been walking around. You're dangerously close to having a seizure."

Dean's hand tightened on TJ's shoulder.

"In addition to that, your liver and kidney function have been impaired. You're in danger of going into kidney failure. That's one reason why you're so swollen."

TJ was listening but having a hard time comprehending what Dr. Williams was saying. She felt numb all of a sudden, in denial that things could be that bad.

Dean was ominously quiet, so Heather took up the conversation. "So what's the next step?"

Dr. Williams exhaled slowly and addressed Heather. "Well, first we'll continue with the antihypertensive med and see how she responds. In the meantime, we're going to put her on magnesium sulfate, which is an anticonvulsive medication to prevent seizures. We're also going to put her on a coritcosteroid to try to improve her liver and platelet function and hopefully help prolong her pregnancy. If we have to deliver the babies early, the steroid will also help their lungs to mature so that they have a better chance of survival."

Those words pierced through TJ's numbness. "What do you mean if you have to deliver them early?"

Dr. Williams looked apologetic. "TJ, the only cure for preeclampsia is to deliver the babies. If your life becomes endangered—"

"No. No way." TJ felt irrationally angry at Dr. Williams for suggesting that, even though none of this was the doctor's fault. "You're not taking those babies until it's safe for them, until they can survive."

"I understand how you feel, but—"

"No."

"Doctor," said Heather, voice annoyingly calm and rational, "what could happen if things get worse?"

"There's increased risk of eclamptic seizures, placental abruption, stroke, and possible severe bleeding if we can't get her liver and platelets functioning correctly. She may have to go on dialysis if her kidneys begin to fail."

TJ clenched her jaw. "I don't care. I'll do whatever it takes. I'm only 20 weeks. It's too soon. They won't survive if they're born before 24 weeks, right?"

Dr. Williams squeezed TJ's hand instead of answering the question. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. I'm going to keep you in the hospital on complete bed rest—no sitting or standing except when absolutely necessary. And I want you to always have a nurse present when you do get up. We don't want to run the risk of you getting dizzy and falling. Okay?"

TJ pressed her lips together tightly and didn't respond. She knew she was acting sullen, but she couldn't help it. This whole situation was really pissing her off—and scaring the crap out of her. She had a feeling Dr. Williams had avoided her question about the twins' survival on purpose. She didn't think TJ would make it to 24 weeks.

"Lying in a reclined position should help lower your blood pressure and increase blood flow to the placentas. As I said, blood flow to the babies doesn't seem to be a problem yet, but the bed rest will hopefully prevent any problems like that from developing. We'll also see how you do on the medications and go from there."

TJ nodded.

Dr. Williams spoke with caution. "Um, will Sam be here soon?"

TJ felt a pang of remorse. "He's in the middle of law school finals at Berkeley. He'll be here as soon as he can."

"Why do you ask?" said Dean. "Should he be here? I'm sure he can be here by tomorrow if things are that serious."

TJ shot Dean a warning look, but he ignored her and stared intently at Dr. Williams.

"I don't think things are that dire," said Dr. Williams. "I know how important those exams are. Just keep him apprised of things, and I'll let you know if he needs to come right away."

"It's only a few days, and then he'll be done," TJ explained.

"A week," Dean corrected in a stubborn tone.

"It's less than a week," TJ argued.

"Last I checked, six days was pretty damn close to a week."

TJ rolled her eyes.

Dr. Williams' expression was neutral. "Hopefully, things will be improved by then. It looks like you've got a good support system here, and there's really nothing Sam can do by being here. It's just that bed rest can get boring, and you could be on it for weeks. There's risk of depression."

"She has lots of friends," Heather interjected. "We'll take good care of her."

Dr. Williams nodded with satisfaction. "Good. All right. A nurse will be in soon with the other meds I spoke of to add to your IV. I'll be in to check on you as soon as I can tomorrow." She started unstrapping the blood pressure cuff from TJ's arm. "Let's give you a break from this for a while. Your pressure hasn't changed much in the last couple of hours. We'll keep monitoring it, but I don't think you need to wear this all the time. It'll make it harder for you to rest."

TJ suddenly felt bad for getting angry earlier, especially since Dr. Williams had come in during her evening off. "Thank you, Dr. Williams."

"You're welcome," she said with an understanding smile. "Hang in there."

TJ made the effort to smile back even though she didn't feel like it.

After Dr. Williams was gone, no one said anything. TJ felt like crying and was aggravated with herself for her weaknesses, both emotional and physical. Why couldn't her body handle being pregnant? Lots of women carried twins with no problem, so why was she having such a hard time? Her one consolation was that, at least for the time being, the babies were healthy. She prayed that her condition would improve, that she'd be able to carry them to full term, although Dr. Williams hadn't been very reassuring on that point.

If Sam were there, he would be freaking out. Of that, TJ was sure. He would see it all as his fault and start spouting off that ridiculous bunk about the demon blood again. The very fact that the babies were healthy despite her deteriorating condition would probably be proof in his mind that something supernatural was at play. It was another reason she didn't want to tell him, and she hoped things would be better by the time he came home.

Heather gave a slight, subtle nod in reaction to something Dean must have conveyed to her, then put her arms around TJ and gave her a hug. "I'm sorry you're having to go through this."

TJ's chin trembled and her voice sounded annoyingly pitiful when she spoke. "Thanks." She cleared her throat, trying to regain control before she completely lost it and started blubbering.

"I'm going to go get some sandwiches. Can I get you anything?"

TJ's voice was stronger this time, and she forced out a small smile. "No, thanks. I'm okay. I think they will probably bring in a dinner tray soon."

Heather nodded. "Okay. I'll be back in a bit." She left the room, pulling the door shut behind her.

TJ couldn't look at Dean. She was embarrassed and felt guilty and hated the silence that was stretching between them. He was still standing close to her, and she could smell the Firestone store on him—grease, oil, and tire rubber. He hadn't even had a chance to change clothes before he'd had to take her to the ER.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"For what?"

She let out a shaky breath, feeling the tears threatening again. "For putting you in this situation, for dragging you to the hospital after you've been workin' all day. I know you're probably tired."

She felt the edge of the mattress dip and suddenly his arm was around her, giving her a brotherly hug. It was comforting and so much like what Sam would do that she suddenly missed Sam with an ache that caused her chest to constrict painfully. She couldn't hold back any longer, and hot tears ran down her cheeks. She turned into Dean and hugged him back in desperation. "What am I gonna do, Dean?" she said into his chest.

"Get better." His voice was a gruff rumble that she could feel vibrating from his chest.

"They'll have to cut off my wedding rings."

"Maybe not. Maybe the drugs and the bed rest will make the swelling go down."

"What about my finals? They start in two days. There's no way I'll be able to take them."

"You'll explain what's happening to Dr. Rostom and the rest of your professors, and they'll make some sort of arrangement so you can take them when you feel better."

"What if that's not for a long time?"

"They're not gonna let all your hard work this semester go down the tubes. Sam says Dr. Rostom thinks you're the best thing since sliced bread. I bet he'll go to bat for you." He handed her a tissue from a box of Kleenex on the bedside table.

She blew her nose. "How will Sam and I pay for all of this? Bed rest in a hospital will cost a fortune. Our crappy insurance policy isn't enough."

"It'll be okay. I'll help if you need it, and don't you think your parents will, too? Plus, Sam's annoyingly smart. He'll figure somethin' out."

She hated the thought of having to ask Dean or her parents for financial help and knew Sam wouldn't want to do it, either. It wasn't like Dean or her parents had a lot of extra money lying around.

Her head was still hurting, and she felt drained and overwhelmed by it all. Dean handed her another Kleenex, and she wiped the moisture from her cheeks.

He tightened his arm around her. "Everything will work out."

To her horror, a fresh batch of tears began to fall. "What if it doesn't?" she croaked. "What if I can't even make it to 24 weeks? And even if I do, that's the bare minimum, Dean. The babies could have all kinds of health problems and developmental delays if they're born that early."

"Don't, TJ. Thinking about all that will only make you more stressed out, and you're probably worrying about something that won't even happen. Just take it all one day at a time and see how it goes."

"Sam's gonna be furious. I'm sorry I'm draggin' you into this."

"You gotta tell him, TJ, or let me. What if it was reversed? What if he was the one in the hospital and no one told you?"

"I'd be pissed, and then I'd drop everything and come a runnin'. And that's exactly what he'll do. We have to wait, Dean. It's just for a few days."

"A _week_," he said with emphasis.

She ignored that. "He'll think it's the demon blood."

The words hung in the air for a moment, and then Dean spoke. "He'll kill me if I don't tell him, TJ."

"No, he won't. I'll explain to him that I begged you, that it's not your fault."

He snorted. "Like that'll make a difference. He trusts me with your life. What if..." He trailed off, but she knew he was worried she would get worse. Sam would never forgive himself for not being here if she had a seizure or something else happened, and he would never forgive Dean for not telling him. It could damage Dean's relationship with Sam beyond repair.

TJ felt sick to her stomach, the guilt twisting her insides into painful knots, but she didn't change her mind. "I'm sorry," she said again. "Please, Dean. I know what I'm asking you to do, what's at stake. But he needs to finish."

"Dammit," he said under his breath. He rubbed his fingers over his mouth, and when he spoke, his tone was stern. "_For now_. I won't saying anything for now, but if you get worse—and I'm talkin' if you break a friggin' nail—the deal's off and I'm calling him. Understand?"

She nodded, knowing she'd won the battle, but it didn't make her feel any better.

**XXXXXXXX**

TJ was in her hospital bed wearing one of Sam's old T-shirts that fit tightly over her baby belly and a pair of her own drawstring pajama pants that were tacky but comfortable. The drawstrings were hardly needed anymore and were just barely long enough to be tied around her expanding waist. It was her standard bed-rest outfit, but she needed to get some maternity lounging-around clothes soon.

Her old pajama pants and Sam's tees had sufficed for bed until this week, but she was getting bigger by the minute. Besides, she wasn't vain and had never really cared that much about fashion, but now that Sam would be home soon, she wanted something cuter to wear. She already felt like a swollen blimp. No need to compound it by wearing dowdy, unattractive clothes.

She was playing the card game _Go Fish_ with Dean and Heather, who came to visit after Dean got off work and ended up staying the whole evening. Heather was sitting on the foot of the bed, legs folded yoga style, and Dean was sitting in a chair between the two of them next to the bed. He and Heather were telling TJ how Rocket had raided an unattended picnic basket at the dog park yesterday evening while they were distracted. Rocket annihilated the entire dinner, basket and all. Dean had to make reparations, giving the angry victims—a yuppie couple who didn't even own a dog—forty bucks to cover all the damage.

"Well, what did they expect?" asked TJ. "It's a _dog_ park, where dogs are allowed to run loose. Maybe not the best place to have a romantic picnic or leave the basket full of food unattended. That's just asking for trouble."

"Yeah, well. That damn dog. Sam owes me forty bucks," groused Dean.

"It's not Sam's fault," said Heather, one side of her mouth quirked in amusement. "We should have been paying attention."

It was evident by the look Heather shared with Dean that they'd been having their own romantic moment and that's why their eyes hadn't been on Rocket.

TJ smiled and picked up her cards, holding them with her hands resting on her belly. At least the growing mound was good for something. "Okay." She looked at Dean. "Do you have any sevens?"

"Go fish," he answered.

Heather smirked and shook her head at TJ, indicating he was probably lying.

TJ rolled her eyes. "Dean, if you lie, I'm gonna know it eventually because you'll have to ask for those cards."

He gave her an indignant look. "You saying I'm cheating?"

"Yes," she said without hesitation.

He placed his hand over his heart. "I'm crushed you'd think that of me, sweetheart."

"Hand 'em over."

Before he could, her cell phone rang. She set her cards face-down on the overbed table next to her winnings—she was kicking ass, as usual, which was why Dean was cheating—and picked up her phone. She saw that it was Sam and felt a combination of delight that it was him and dread that she might have to lie to him again. Just one more day. He had one more day, and his finals would be over.

She made her voice cheery. "Hey, Sam. How did your exam go today? Criminal Law, right?"

"_Fine. TJ, where are you? Where is everybody?"_

She frowned, feeling a twinge of apprehension. "What do you mean?"

"_I mean it's almost nine-thirty in the evening and no one is here at the apartment. Where are you? Are you out somewhere?"_

Her heart stopped for a moment. "You're at the apartment?" She glanced at Dean and Heather, who both looked suddenly uneasy.

"_Yeah. I finished my last final late this morning, so I got in the car and came home. I wanted to surprise you."_

This was not good. She had planned to tell him everything on the phone during his drive to San Diego tomorrow, like maybe when he was a couple of hours or so out of the city. That way, he would have time to think about her explanation and maybe cool off a little before they all had to face him. "What do you mean your last final? I thought tomorrow was the last day."

"_No. Not for me. I had my last one today," _he repeated. _"I wanted to surprise you. Where are you? I can come out and meet you."_

She squeezed the phone tightly in her hand and bit her lip. "Sam, don't freak out. Okay?"

There was silence, and then his voice was calm—scary calm. _"Why would I freak out, TJ?"_

"I'm, um—don't worry. I'm fine."

"_Why wouldn't you be fine?" _Still calm.

She cringed. "I'm, um, in the hospital."

"_What? Why didn't you call me? Did you just get there?" _Not so calm.

"Um, no. I think you should come here, you know, to the hospital. I can explain everything once you get here."

"_Jesus, TJ! You think?"_

Wincing at the anger in his voice, she told him her room number and what part of the ginormous hospital she was in. He clicked off the line without saying goodbye. Definitely not a good sign.

She tossed her phone forlornly onto the bedside table. Everyone was quiet until she drummed up enough courage to look at Dean. "So, I'd rethink askin' him for that forty bucks."

Dean's expression was grim.

"I'm sorry, Dean. This wasn't exactly how I wanted him to find out. I think you guys should go before he gets here. Maybe I can sort of defuse his anger some before you have to face him."

He shook his head. "I'm not leaving you to deal with him alone."

She had to laugh a little. "Dean, it's Sam. What's he gonna do to me? I'm more worried he'll be all broody and sullen and give me the silent treatment than yell at me. You, on the other hand...well, let's just say you're not pregnant with twins and all pathetic-looking, lying here on bed rest."

"I have a feeling I'm gonna wish I was," he grumbled.

Heather leaned toward the table and laid her cards down, then tugged on Dean's arm. "Come on. I think she's right. She needs a chance to talk to him alone."

Dean gave a short, reluctant nod and slapped his cards on the table. "Call me if you need anything or if Sam gets too bitchy."

"Thanks. I think he's a little justified if he does, though, don't you? Besides, we knew this was comin'. Time to face the music."

"Yeah," he said solemnly. He stood and jutted his chin to indicate the cards lying on the table. "Next time, I'm teaching you how to play poker. No more pansy-ass card games. You can save those for Sam."

She poked her cheek with her tongue, amused. "I'll still whup you."

"Dream on, sister. Dream on."

Heather smiled in that crooked way she had that seemed to somehow add to her beauty instead of detract from it. It sort of gave her an air of mischief and mystery, like she knew some kind of secret she wouldn't tell. She hugged TJ and then left with Dean.

After they left, TJ let out a long sigh. She knew Sam was sure to be pissed at Dean, and Dean didn't deserve it. Dean had really been there for her in the last week, had taken his responsibility to watch over her in Sam's place very seriously. Between Dean, Heather, Gretchen, Ralph, and some of TJ's other friends from school, she'd hardly had a moment alone. They hadn't given her a chance to get bored or depressed.

She felt like she was imposing on them all, had told them she didn't need company all the time, but they wouldn't hear of it. She suspected they'd kind of coordinated with each other so that someone would be with her most of the time except at night when she was sleeping. Despite her protests, she was glad they'd been there for her.

She was afraid.

She wasn't really any worse as far as her symptoms went, but she wasn't any better, either. Her blood pressure wasn't responding as hoped to the medication, and they had switched her to another one this morning. After only a week of bed rest, she was already weaker, and she had a feeling it wasn't all due to not using her muscles. Even a trip to the bathroom was laborious and difficult.

Her head still hurt and she still felt nauseous a lot. What worried her the most, though, was that her kidney function wasn't improving. She had a lot of protein in her urine and her output hadn't increased. She hardly ever needed to go, which wasn't normal for a pregnant woman at all.

A PICC line—a long, slender, flexible tube—had been inserted into her upper left arm and advanced into her body until the tip ended in a large vein in her chest near her heart. It replaced the regular IV because it was better for long-term administration of drugs. The line had two ports, one that the medical staff could draw blood out of so they didn't have to keep sticking her over and over, and one that they used to administer various drugs. Having the PICC line inserted was, in and of itself, depressing. It meant she was going to be in the hospital for the long haul.

At least one thing had turned out okay. Dean was right. Dr. Rostom and some of her other professors spoke up for her, and the powers that be at SDSU had arranged for her to take her finals in the hospital. Luckily, she had completed all her lab requirements before she was admitted and only needed to take the written components to her finals. Each of her professors either came in person or sent a teaching assistant to monitor her while she took the tests in her bed. She wasn't sure how she had done on them. Her head throbbed through most of them, and it wasn't like she'd felt much like studying. Hopefully, she managed to at least turn in something passable.

She was contemplating all this and didn't realize how much time had passed until she saw the door open. Sam pushed himself into the room and swung the door shut behind him. He seemed composed at first glance, but when he came closer, she could see that he was worried and definitely not happy with her.

His jaw was hard, his broad shoulders stiff, and his biceps bulged underneath his plaid shirt as he pushed the wheels of his chair. His hands were so big that they encompassed not only the hand rim of each wheel but also the tire itself, and there was something really sexy about that, something that turned her on. She loved his hands. They were so strong and capable.

She scanned the rest of him and noticed his left leg was bouncing up and down with spasms. She knew the spasms wouldn't do anything to help his mood and hoped he wasn't feeling the pins-and-needles pain that sometimes plagued him. She suddenly felt a little rueful for lusting after him.

He'd just finished an eight-hour drive, and she knew he probably hadn't stopped enough for breaks. Sometimes things like that caused his legs to be spastic. She wanted to coax him into lying down next to her because a change of position sometimes helped, but this wasn't the time. He was in no mood to be mothered.

He took her in, his eyes traveling over every inch of her, and then he focused the full wrath of his dark gaze on her face.

She cleared her throat. "Sam, I'm sorry. I—"

"Just tell me why you're here." There was a hard edge to his tone that clearly said she was in trouble.

"I...started feeling bad, started getting headaches, swelled up like the Michelin Man. Dr. Williams put me on bed rest."

He shifted his shoulders in agitation. "When?"

"Um, a few days ago," she hedged.

"How _many_ days ago?"

She fidgeted. "Um...five?"

His face reddened and a vein stuck out in his neck. "Goddammit, TJ!"

She swallowed, guilt and a bit of fear warring within her. It seemed Broody Sam had been replaced with Thunderously Angry Sam. He'd never been this mad at her, had never yelled at her like that before.

His brow creased and betrayal was added to the fury in his eyes. "You _promised_ me."

She looked down at her swollen hands, which were resting on her belly. "I know."

He was quiet for a long time, and she wasn't sure what to say, wasn't sure whether he was ready to hear her explanation. Finally, he rolled closer to her bed and took her hands in his. It wasn't a loving gesture. He was inspecting them, but his touch still caused a thrill to run through her. She craved his touch whenever he was at Berkeley, was starved for it.

"Where are your wedding rings?"

She felt a stab of sadness and stared at her bare ring finger. "In my purse. They had to cut them off because my fingers were so swollen. The rings were cutting off the circulation."

"Look at me."

She did.

"What's causing the swelling?"

"Preeclampsia. It's when—"

"I know what it is."

Of course he would know. He'd probably researched every possible thing that could go wrong in pregnancy.

"It came on really abruptly," she said in her defense, but she knew it was a lame justification for not telling him.

"How bad is it?"

She sighed and glanced away, then forced herself to look him in the eye. "Bad."

Concern was etched in every line of his features. "How bad?"

"My liver and kidneys aren't functioning right—that's another reason I'm so swollen—and they can't get my blood pressure to come down."

"Are you in any pain?"

"Not really."

He gave her a stern look, and she knew she should come clean. "Just some pain in my abdomen sometimes and a headache that never really goes away."

"Have you had any seizures?" he asked.

Yep. He'd researched it.

She shook her head. "They have me on an anticonvulsive med to prevent seizures."

He exhaled harshly, let go of her hands, and gripped his tires. "Dammit, TJ. You should have told me."

"I wanted you to finish your finals. I knew you'd leave Berkeley if you found out."

"I'm not going back." He was obstinate, jaw squared.

She raised her brows. "Oh, yes, you are."

His expression was stony. "No, I'm not."

She didn't like the finality in his voice. "Sam—"

"How can I, TJ? Every time I leave, you get sick, and then you lie to me about it. How am I supposed to trust anything you tell me? You promised me!"

He had every right to be furious with her, but his words rubbed her the wrong way, even if they were true. She could feel her anger rising. "I take it back, then! I shouldn't have made that promise, Sam!" She could feel her heart start to thump in her chest. "When it comes to you, I'll do whatever it takes to make sure you're happy, that you don't throw your dreams down the drain because of me!" The usual dull ache in her head was now a booming jackammer, and her vision blurred. She pressed her fingers to her temples and closed her eyes, wincing.

"Shhh. Easy, TJ. Just take it easy."

There was a beat of silence, and then, out of the blue, a tinny male voice came from the call panel on her bed. _"What can I get you, TJ?" _

It startled her, but then she realized Sam must have pushed the call button.

"Get someone in here to check on my wife," Sam ordered with urgency. "Her heart rate is too high."

"_I'll be right there." _It was Alex, the male nurse that was usually on the evening shift. TJ was getting to know most of the nurses pretty well.

She opened her eyes and looked at the monitor that she was always connected to by the pulse ox clip on her finger. She was so used to the feel of it that she'd forgotten it was there. The sound on the monitor was turned off so it wouldn't bug her, but she could see that her heart rate was sky high, which meant her blood pressure probably was, too. She drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, trying to get herself calmed down.

Alex, a big burly guy with a buzz cut, burst into the room. He was wearing dark-blue scrubs and was the furthest thing TJ would ever think of a nurse looking like. He looked more like a biker with his tattooed arms and gold earring in one ear. He glanced at the monitor, grabbed the automatic blood pressure cuff that hung by the bed, and immediately put the cuff on TJ's upper arm.

She felt the familiar, almost painful tightening of the cuff on her bicep. It was connected to the monitor and, after a minute, gave a reading of her blood pressure. Her pressure was way too high, but at least her heart rate had gone down a few beats.

"What's got you so riled up?" asked Alex. His eyes shifted to Sam, taking him in, suspicious.

Sam clenched his jaw and glanced down, looking remorseful.

TJ closed her eyes and breathed, reaching out to Sam with her hand. He gripped it and it was soothing, despite the tension that was between them. "It's okay," she said, trying to reassure him.

Alex spoke. "I'm going to call Dr. Williams and let her know what's happening."

TJ opened her eyes and saw that Alex was studying the monitor with a frown. She tried to give him a smile. "I'm feeling better. I'm okay."

"Uh-huh." Alex's mouth curved skeptically. "How about some Tylenol for that headache?"

"Yeah. That'd be good." She knew from experience it wouldn't make the headache go away completely, but sometimes it took the edge off. And Tylenol wouldn't hurt the babies.

He left to get the medicine and call Dr. Williams.

Sam was still holding TJ's hand and she closed her eyes again, glad that he was there, even if he was mad at her. She was surprised when she felt his lips on her palm. She wasn't sure if it was a silent apology or just him saying that he still loved her, but either way, it was calming.

Alex came in the door again a few minutes later. "All right," he said, handing TJ the Tylenol and a cup of water. "Bottoms up."

She took the pills. When she was finished, Alex pressed a button on the bed panel and started to lower her mattress to a flatter position. "Dr. Williams said it's bedtime. You need to lie almost flat for a while. It'll help lower your pressure. Sorry, but we have to leave the cuff on for the next hour to see how you do."

"Okay."

Alex turned to Sam. "So, you must be Sam. I've heard a lot about you. I'm Alex." He offered his hand to shake.

Sam obliged and gave a polite, faint smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Nice to meet you."

"TJ talks about you all the time. Mostly good stuff," he added with a wink.

TJ smiled.

"Dean, on the other hand—he didn't have much good to say."

Alex was teasing, of course, but Sam stiffened at the mention of Dean's name. "Really?" Sam said quietly, humoring Alex.

"Don't worry," said Alex in commiseration. "I have an older brother, too. He's a complete asshole."

The corners of Sam's mouth twitched into the semblance of a quick smile, like he was going along with Alex, although he clearly wasn't in the mood to joke around—or talk about older brothers.

Alex straightened TJ's covers and patted her forearm. "You comfortable?"

"Yeah."

He seemed satisfied and then smiled at Sam. "Great meeting you." Sam gave a quick nod. Alex walked toward the door and then paused, eyeing TJ over his shoulder. "I'll be back in an hour to check your pressure. If it stabilizes, we can take that thing off."

"Okay. Thanks."

He left, and a silence stretched between TJ and Sam. Sam was staring at his leg that was still jiggling, his face unreadable.

TJ made an opening in the covers and patted the mattress. "Lie down with me."

He looked up at her.

"Please."

He held her gaze for a second and then pushed the overbed table out of the way. He locked the brakes on his chair and braced himself, one hand on the mattress and one on his chair. He pressed down a bit and then paused, looking at his spasming leg. The spasms sometimes made it harder for him to transfer, but he must have decided it was okay because he shifted onto her bed without any problem.

She rolled onto her side to make room for him, her back to him, making sure there were no kinks in the tubes going to the PICC line, since she was lying on her left side. She wanted him to spoon with her, wanted to cocoon herself into his large body.

She felt him scooting and heard the rustle of movement, then felt him arrange the cord from the blood pressure cuff so he wouldn't be lying on it. The mattress dipped and rocked with the weight of him as he got comfortable and placed his legs in a suitable position. Then his body heat was enveloping her, his hand resting on her belly protectively, his head sharing her pillow, his chin on the crown of her head. She could feel the muted spasms of his leg and hoped for his sake they would subside soon, that lying down would help.

"Are your legs hurting?" she asked softly.

He didn't answer, and she knew that was a yes. She hated that he was in pain and lifted his knuckles to her lips for a brief kiss, then put his hand back on her belly.

"I'm sorry, TJ." His deep voice was muted and husky.

"For what? I broke my promise. I lied to you. You had every right to be mad."

Silence.

"But there's nothing you could have done," she reasoned. "All you would've been doing is sitting around twiddling your thumbs. There was no sense in you being here and missing your finals. Besides, Dean has taken very good care of me."

This time, Sam's silence was tense and palpable.

She exhaled in frustration. "Don't be pissed at him, Sam. He wanted to tell you, but I begged him not to, and believe me, it wasn't easy to talk him out of it."

Still no response.

"I think he only agreed once he saw that I wasn't getting any worse and there was nothing you could do by being here. He's been with me through the whole thing. He made sure I was never alone, worked it out with all our friends so that someone was always with me.

"You were alone when I got here."

"Dean and Heather were here when you called, but I told them to leave."

There was a wry note in his tone. "You thought it was better to weather the storm on your own?"

"Somethin' like that."

A moment passed, and then he changed the subject. "So what about the babies?"

She smiled to herself. "They're fine. Dr. Williams says they're perfectly healthy. I've been feeling them move."

He rubbed his hand over her belly.

She wondered what he was thinking, if he knew that delivering the babies would alleviate the preeclampsia. He probably did, and that worried her. "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"If it comes to—I mean, if I get worse, the babies come first. Okay? No matter what, you have to promise me you won't let them be delivered too early."

Again, he was silent, and she could tell he didn't agree with her. She'd never known anyone who could say so much without uttering a word. His reticence made her uneasy. She wanted to make sure he understood how she felt. "Sam? Did you hear me?"

"Yeah."

She waited for more of an acknowledgment from him, for some kind of opinion one way or another. After what seemed like forever, she heard him swallow and his arm tightened around her. "TJ?"

"Yeah?"

His voice was intense. "_You_ are my dream, not Berkeley. You're what I never thought I'd have, what I was afraid to ever dream about again after I lost Jessica. Don't ask me to put anything or anyone before you. Don't ask me to make a promise that _I_ can't keep."

A lump formed in her throat. She was touched by his words, but there was something far greater at stake now. "Sam, the babies—we're all they have. If we don't protect them, who will?"

"If it comes to..." He trailed off and started over. "We can still have kids someday. We can adopt or maybe do in vitro."

She tensed, panic surging through her. "No! Don't you say that! You save them, Sam. You hear me? I'll never forgive you if you let them die."

"Shh, shh, shh," he soothed, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Your blood pressure's going up again. Just rest. Let's talk about it later." He took her hand and started rubbing his thumb in circles across the back of it.

She wanted to make him swear to her that he'd always put the twins first, but what right did she have to ask him to promise anything, when she had so blatantly disregarded the one she made to him?

"Everything's gonna be okay," he said. "Just take it easy."

He was right. She needed to calm down, and the deep timber of his voice was comforting. It made her blood hum, made her feel cozy and toasty on the inside. She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. They could talk about everything tomorrow when her head didn't ache so bad and she wasn't so tired.

They lay in silence for a long time after that, and TJ was almost asleep when she felt the babies kick. She took Sam's hand and placed it over the spot where she'd felt the movement. She wasn't sure he would be able to feel it, but she prayed that he would. She wanted him to feel what she felt, wanted him to feel that the babies were alive and real.

She waited, hardly daring to breathe. The babies were quiet, not cooperating, and she'd almost given up when there they were, the little tiny thumps she'd been hoping for—her proof of life. Sam inhaled sharply, and she knew that he felt it. A small laugh of amazement escaped him, and he kissed the top of her head.

It was a profound moment that didn't need any words. She smiled, and—pregnant, hormonal mess that she was—tears welled in her eyes. She closed her lids to keep the tears at bay. She was confident that Sam understood now, that he would feel the same as she did. The twins had to come first, no matter what.

Her last thought before drifting off to sleep was that he didn't really mean what he'd said about not going back to Berkeley. She would talk him into going back once he was over his anger and he saw there was nothing to be worried about—once she was feeling better.

_**TBC**_


	9. Chapter 9

**_A/N: Hi all! Thank you to Nicole for your lovely review and also MJ and anyone else signed in as a guest. You guys rock! And, of course, thanks to all of you for reading this story and sticking with me. _  
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**_I am leaving for vacation on Friday and will be away from my computer for at least a week, so I'm posting Chapter 9 today and Chapter 10 TOMORROW so you won't have to wait two weeks for it-just because I love you guys! So be on the lookout TOMORROW, Thursday, July 19. I may not be able to answer your reviews right away, but please know that they are very much appreciated. Please, keep 'em coming. They make my day and fuel the muse.  
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**_Last but certainly not least, thanks to catsluver and skzb for the geniuses that they are. Any mistakes are mine, as are all medical inaccuracies.  
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**Chapter 9**

Two days later, Sam heard the quiet murmur of voices. He opened his eyes to see two nurses beginning the process of getting TJ out of bed. It was early morning, and he was lying on his stomach on the other patient bed in the room, where he'd slept for the last two nights. He wondered how long it would be before their luck ran out and another patient occupied the bed. TJ had already gone over a week now with no roommate, and he knew it couldn't last.

He wasn't sure what he would do when he got kicked out of the bed. He could spoon with TJ in her bed for a few hours, but she couldn't sleep comfortably like that for a whole night. She was kind of a wild sleeper and needed space to move around. The bed wasn't big enough for allowing that with him in it too. One thing was for certain—he wasn't leaving her alone at night.

Judging by the hushed voices of the nurses and TJ, they were trying not to wake him. He didn't do anything to alert them that he was awake. He wanted to watch TJ when she didn't know it, when she wasn't trying to put on a brave face for his benefit.

In just the two days he'd been with her, she was worse. The nausea and vomiting had increased to where she could hardly keep anything down, including water. If it weren't for the separate IV of partial parenteral nutrition that she was getting—what the nurses called "PPN"—she would be dehydrated and malnourished.

One of the nurses raised the head of TJ's bed into a sitting position, which was hard on TJ, since she wasn't even allowed to sit up while on bed rest unless it was absolutely necessary. She was supposed to be reclined at all times. Sitting up straight or standing caused a head rush that exacerbated her ever-present headache and made her nauseous and woozy. She winced and rubbed her forehead with her fingers. Sam could see a slight tremor in her hands from where he was.

"We'll give you a minute, baby." It was the stout black nurse with an impressive head of long, tiny woven braids named Ivy who was speaking. She was the type of woman who would give you a bear hug and squish you into her cushiony bosom if you'd let her. Sam liked how Ivy was so gentle and treated TJ as if she were one of her own children.

All the nurses Sam had met so far were good to TJ. They all seemed to be protective of her and had taken her under their wing. They were pulling for her and the babies and were doing their best to see that she and the twins came through okay. Despite all their efforts, however, TJ's body had other ideas.

As if sensing Sam was awake, TJ suddenly looked at him and gave him a smile that was genuine, if a little wan. "Mornin'."

He returned her smile, trying not to let his worry for her show. "Morning."

She glanced at Ivy and the thin, gray-haired nurse whose badge read "Martha." "Let's let Sam have first dibs on the bathroom, y'all. This could take me a while."

"Sure," said Martha, as she unhooked the IV catheter from TJ's PICC line.

Sam got himself out of bed and into his wheelchair, which was sitting next to the bed. His duffel, which held his toiletries, a change of clothes, and other essentials, sat on the floor just in front of the bedside table, and he grabbed it and headed toward the bathroom.

He did the basics, not wanting to take up too much time. He was wearing a T-shirt and sweatpants, but he would worry about changing into something else once he had a chance to shower and finish his morning routine.

When he rolled out of the bathroom, he saw that TJ was sitting on the side of the bed, white-slippered feet on the floor, shoulders hunched in a sort of dejected way, eyes closed. It bothered him that the simple act of getting out of bed in the morning had become so difficult for her. Both Ivy and Martha had looks of sympathy mixed with concern on their faces, and Ivy was rubbing TJ's back in comforting circles.

Ivy's rich voice was low. "You want me to get a wheelchair, baby?"

TJ waited a moment to respond, then scowled. "No. I can make it to the damn bathroom. It's not that far away." She sounded irritated, but Sam knew it wasn't aimed at anyone in particular. She was irritated at the whole situation, in addition to feeling like crap. It was the first break he had seen in her seemingly inexhaustible reserve of good spirits. She had been a model patient—a far cry from when she was in the hospital last year because of the bulimia.

Her head came up and her eyes sought him out, again with that sixth sense she seemed to have regarding him. She blushed, like she was embarrassed that he'd witnessed her show of temper, but then she managed a tired smile. "Sam can give me a ride if I can't make it."

He tried to smile back but wasn't sure that what came out could be construed as such. Ivy and Martha flanked TJ on each side and wore expressions that he was sure weren't meant to be so bleak. He was glad TJ couldn't see them.

"All right," said TJ. "Let's get this over with." She slowly began to stand as Martha and Ivy supported her. TJ was an inch or so taller than Martha and a head taller than Ivy.

"How you doing, baby?" asked Ivy.

All the blood seemed to have drained from TJ's face, and her eyes looked unfocused. She swallowed convulsively, like she was feeling nauseous.

Ivy spoke again. "You need to sit down, baby? You gonna throw up?"

TJ laughed weakly. "Nothin' to throw up."

After a nod from TJ, the threesome slowly shuffled their way to the bathroom. Except for a brief time where Martha and Ivy stepped out to give TJ some privacy to use the restroom, they were in there the whole time to help bathe and dress her.

When she came back out, she was wearing a clean pair of white pajama pants with big pink-and-black dots on them and one of Sam's old black T-shirts from an Aerosmith concert Dean dragged him to years ago. TJ had confiscated most of Sam's T-shirts, especially the concert ones, which was fine with him since he never wore them anyway. They were more Dean's thing, and most of them came from thrift shops. The fact that he and Dean actually went to the Aerosmith concert was a rare occurrence.

The T-shirt was tight around TJ's protruding round belly, but it was kind of cool. He liked that she wore his shirts. It made him feel more connected to her.

She was still supported by the nurses, looking even more dizzy and depleted than she did when she first got up. The freckles dusting her nose and cheekbones looked stark and incongruous on her pale, swollen face.

The swelling had shocked him more than anything when he'd first seen her. The skin on her face, hands, and ankles looked like it was stretched tight, like the casing on a sausage. She looked like she had gained thirty pounds in a matter of weeks, but it wasn't from eating too much. It was toxic fluid that wasn't being filtered properly from her body because her kidneys weren't working right.

He wondered if the weight gain bothered her. She hadn't said anything about it. She never complained about anything, probably because she didn't want him to worry—and because she knew he was still pissed that she didn't tell him when it all started, pissed that she didn't tell him she was in the hospital, and pissed that she didn't keep her promise.

He was trying to let his anger go for her sake, but every time he witnessed her struggling like she was this morning, a fresh wave of betrayal hit him along with an icy fear that she was deteriorating before his eyes. He should have been here for her, but he hadn't been because the two people he loved the most lied to him. It was hard to stomach, even if they'd done it out of a misguided sense that it was for his own good. He hadn't even begun to deal with the anger he felt toward Dean.

TJ and the nurses inched their way back to the bed. Sam wanted to offer her a ride, but he knew she wouldn't take it. She only got out of bed a few times a day, and as hard on her as it was, she wanted the chance to walk around, however briefly. Once she made it back to her bed, she sat down on the edge of the mattress, catching her breath for a second, and kicked off her slippers. She gave Sam a self-conscious smile as she lay back down and tugged at her pajama pants. "I need a makeover, right?"

He locked eyes with her. "You're beautiful." He'd never been more sincere about anything in his life.

She blushed, causing a little color to come back to her pale face.

"Mm-mm," admired Ivy, eyeing Sam with approval. Then she spoke to TJ. "Now I know why you kept this one."

TJ's eyes never left Sam. "Yeah. Sometimes he's worth the trouble."

Sam smiled, and Ivy's chest shook with a chuckle.

Martha, apparently a woman of few words, covered TJ with the sheet and blanket and placed the pulse ox clip back on her finger.

TJ was lying back against her pillow, the bed inclined to where she could see around the room and hold a conversation but wasn't really sitting up. She looked relieved to be back in bed. "I gotta start workin' out more," she quipped.

Sam gave a small laugh and pushed himself up to the side of the bed where there were no nurses standing, where he wouldn't be in the way. He reached over and brushed TJ's soft hair away from her face. It was still a little damp from her bath. She wore it down most of the time now because she'd said the ponytail was kind of uncomfortable when she was lying down.

Her gaze rested on him for a moment, but then she was distracted when Ivy put the blood pressure cuff on her arm.

"Sorry, baby," said Ivy. "You're gonna have to wear this for a while."

TJ shrugged. "It doesn't bother me." She stared at the cuff, watching as it started to contract at intervals on her arm. "Sometimes I feel kind of naked without it."

Ivy smiled, but then she grew serious, her dark brows knitting into a frown. "Mm-mm, child. I am not liking your pressure at all."

Sam could see on the monitor that TJ's blood pressure was way too high, and his concern ratcheted up a notch. It must have shown on his face because TJ grabbed his hand in her swollen one and squeezed. "Don't worry," she said. "It's just because I was up walkin' around. It'll go down in a little bit."

Ivy's frown softened, and she patted TJ's free hand. "I'm sure you're right. We'll just keep an eye on it."

Sam didn't feel very reassured, but he didn't want TJ to know how afraid for her he was or that he felt like it was his fault. It would just upset her, and that was the last thing she needed. He raised her hand to his lips and gave it a quick kiss.

Martha and Ivy checked a few more of TJ's vitals, recording them in her chart. They also replaced the almost-empty IV bags hanging on a pole by her bed with new ones and reconnected her PICC line. She had a separate IV line in her hand for the PPN that she was getting, and they hooked it up to one of the bags too.

"All right, baby," said Ivy. "Breakfast cart will be around in a minute. You call us if you need anything."

"Thanks," TJ said with a yawn. After the nurses were gone, she regarded Sam with a sleepy eyes. "You should finish getting dressed and go get some breakfast yourself."

She was right, but all he could do was cling to her hand. He couldn't make himself let go of her, scared that something bad might happen if he left.

She yawned again. "I'll be fine. I'm gonna take a catnap. My little stroll wore me out."

He hesitated. "You want me to get something else for you for breakfast instead of what they're gonna bring you?"

She appeared to turn green at the mere thought. "Ugh. No."

He knew she probably wouldn't eat whatever had been ordered for her either and was worried that she wasn't eating anything at all now.

"It's ironic, right?" she said.

"What is?"

"The bulimia, the fact that I used to make myself throw up on purpose. Now that I don't wanna throw up, I can't keep anything down."

"TJ—"

"Then there's the fact that I look like the Goodyear blimp, but I'm not eatin' anything. I should be skin and bones." She paused. "You think maybe I'm being punished?"

"What?" He was disturbed by the suggestion. "TJ, no way. This has nothing to do with your eating disorder."

"I don't know. Sometimes it seems like God's got a pretty ironic sense of humor."

Sam had never heard her talk like this. She wasn't zealously religious by any means, but she'd always had a steady Christian faith. "TJ, you're not being punished for the bulimia. Sometimes shitty things just happen."

She suddenly squeezed his hand with shocking intensity and held his gaze. "That's right, Sam." Her brown eyes burned with meaning. "Sometimes shitty things just happen that can't be explained. _Don't_ forget that."

He realized in that moment that she knew him far better than he'd ever thought, that she saw into the darkest recesses of his mind. She knew what he'd been thinking, that he was afraid the babies were making her sick because of the demon blood. He'd tried to hide it—from her and himself—but he obviously hadn't done a very good job of it. In her own way, she was telling him not to blame the twins, that her condition wasn't their fault.

He didn't know what to say.

She tenderly traced his jaw with her fingers. "Go away," she said without any bite, letting him off the hook. "You're keeping me awake."

He closed his eyes, indulging himself for a brief second in her touch. His voice came out husky. "I guess I'll take a shower then and grab something from the cafeteria. I'll be back."

She smiled. "I know. You always come back."

He took her hand and kissed it again, unable to get enough of her. "Don't go anywhere."

Her eyes were already drifting closed. "'Kay."

**XXXXXXXX**

When he came back from the cafeteria an hour later, he carried a small, white paper sack on his lap that contained a multigrain bagel, cream cheese, and a vanilla latte in a to-go cup. TJ had still been asleep after he finished his shower, so he went to the cafeteria to grab a quick breakfast. He didn't eat it there because he was afraid she might wake up while he was gone.

As he pushed himself through the doorway of her room, he froze. TJ's bed was empty.

He stared at the bed, at first not truly comprehending, and then tried to stave off panic. She had been sound asleep not twenty minutes ago. He shook his head. "No, no, no, no."

There was a logical explanation. There had to be. Maybe the nurses had helped her up for a bathroom break. But no one was waiting outside the door to the bathroom, there were no voices behind it, and there was no sliver of light underneath it.

The covers of the bed were rumpled, and the blood pressure cuff lay on it as if it had been carelessly removed from her arm and discarded. He wheeled forward, eyes scanning the room, heart starting to race._ Please, God. Please, God. Let her be okay. Please, God. _He chanted it over and over in his head and berated himself for leaving her alone.

What could have happened? Had she seized or stroked out? He had visions of crash carts and nurses rushing her out of the room on a gurney to God knew where while he'd been downstairs buying a fucking latte.

As he neared the bed, he tossed the breakfast sack haphazardly onto the overbed table and ran a hand through his hair. He was a millisecond away from full-on panic and tried to think what to do, tried to control the frantic hammering of his heart.

Then he saw her...and he could breathe again.

She sat with her back against the side of the bed that was hidden from the door. Her legs were spread out in front of her, and her feet were bare and swollen. He pushed himself around the end of the bed and over to her. She was staring at a vague point in front of her and didn't seem to register his presence.

"TJ?"

She didn't respond.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and took her face in his hands, tilting it upward. "TJ, are you okay?"

Her eyes rose to meet his, her brow furrowing with confusion. "Sam?"

"Yes. Are you okay? Did you fall off the bed?"

"Why aren't you at Berkeley?"

Fingers of fear snaked through him, instantly cooling his blood. "TJ, I finished my finals, remember? I've been back a few days now."

She mulled that over. "Oh. Really?"

"Yes."

She didn't say anything, just stared at him.

"Can you tell me what happened, how you ended up on the floor?"

Tears welled in her eyes and her voice trembled. "I don't know." She looked up at the IV bags. "Why am I tethered to this pole?" Her drawl was pronounced, and she sounded like a lost child.

His heart ached. "It's for your IVs. It's stuff to make you feel better."

"I don't think it's workin'. I don't feel very good."

He rubbed his thumb over her cheek, wiping away a tear from it. "I know."

She looked down at her arm. "I tried to get free of it, but I couldn't. It hurt."

He saw that the IV in her hand was still in place, so he reached out and pulled the short sleeve of her T-shirt up, revealing the PICC line. The dressing was seeping blood. He suddenly felt weak. "TJ, I'm gonna call for help, okay?"

She was still staring at her arm, perplexed, but his words caught her attention. "Don't leave me."

He felt choked, like he couldn't breathe. "I won't."

**XXXXXXXX**

Sam sat beside TJ's bed and watched as Dr. Williams shone a penlight in her eyes. TJ winced and squeezed Sam's hand.

"Can you tell me your full name?" asked Dr. Williams.

TJ scrunched up her nose in a comical grimace and Sam smiled, relieved that she was recovered enough to at least be disgruntled about her name.

"TJ?" Dr. Williams prompted.

"Oh, I can tell you my full name. I just don't want to."

Dr. Williams smiled wryly. "Sorry, but I already know. It's on your insurance information."

TJ gave a long-suffering sigh. "True Joy Nelek." She turned abruptly to Sam, brows raised in sudden realization. "Oops. I mean Winchester."

He smiled.

Dr. Williams resumed her questioning. "When's your birthday?"

"July 31st, 1985."

"Who's the president?"

"Of what?"

"The U.S."

"Barack Obama."

"What city do you live in?"

"San Diego, California."

What year is it?

"2009."

"What does a nucleotide consist of?"

TJ answered without missing a beat. "A nitrogenous base, a five-carbon sugar called deoxyribose, and one or more phosphate groups. There are two classes of nitrogen bases called purines and pyrimidines. The four bases in DNA's alphabet are adenine, cytosine, guanine, and thymine."

Dr. Williams laughed and raised her hand so TJ could give her a triumphant high five.

Sam rolled his eyes.

"She asked," TJ said in a tone that was a little too innocent and a little smug at the same time.

"Well," said Dr. Williams, "I'd say that whatever happened earlier, you don't seem to have any serious lingering effects. You don't remember what happened?"

"Maybe I was sleepwalking?" TJ offered hopefully.

"Not likely. You were probably just confused. It happens with severe preeclampsia. I'm going to send you up for an MRI just to make sure it wasn't a mild seizure or a mild stroke."

She'd said it so matter-of-factly with that professional detachment that most doctors have, it took Sam a second to comprehend what she'd said. TJ looked stiff, all traces of the levity moments earlier gone.

"Your blood pressure has been higher than usual all morning, TJ. I want to know whether you had a seizure or a stroke because that could change things. If it was a seizure, there will probably be more."

"Does—" TJ's voice cut off, and she cleared her throat. "Does that mean that the anticonvulsive med has stopped working?"

"_If_ you had a seizure, that's one scenario. The other is that you might have had a much worse seizure if you had not been on the med."

Sam tried to catch TJ's eye, but she was studiously avoiding him, her expression impassive, as if Dr. Williams' revelation wasn't that big of a deal.

"Is there anything that can be done?" he asked.

Dr. Williams let out a puff of air through her lips, stirring the slightly frizzy blond bangs on her forehead. "We can try changing the anticonvulsive med, but I wouldn't recommend it. We might wind up with one that is less effective. The one she's on so far has been working pretty well. If the episode this morning _was_ a seizure, as I said, it looks like it was mild. Same if it was a stroke. But let's not go there until we know for sure. It's just as likely that she had a bout of confusion. It's a common symptom with preeclampsia. The oxygen being carried to the brain gets all out of whack because of the hypertension."

She looked from Sam to TJ. "I'm not really happy with the antihypertension med," she continued, "so I think we might try a different one, if you're willing. There's a risk, though, just like with the anticonvulsive med. We could end up with a medication that is less effective than the one you're on. So far, the one you're on now is no better or worse than the first one."

"As long as the drug is safe for the babies, I'm willing to try," said TJ.

Dr. Williams nodded. "All right. I'll put in the order and get it changed." She bent over TJ and lifted TJ's T-shirt sleeve, looking over the new PICC line dressing. Thankfully, the radiology technician said no real damage had been done when TJ tried to pull it out. She'd just irritated the skin around the site.

Dr. Williams seemed to be satisfied with what she saw and let go of TJ's sleeve. "Have you eaten anything today?"

TJ shook her head.

Dr. Williams looked troubled. "I know you're not going to like this, TJ, but I think we should try a feeding tube. The nutrients you're getting from the PPN are not enough to sustain you and the twins. If you can't keep anything down, we have to do something else."

Sam's heart sank. "There's no alternative to a feeding tube?"

"Well, we could switch her to TPN, total parenteral nutrition through an IV, but the feeding tube would be better. A feeding tube will keep her digestive track active, preventing atrophy."

TJ's mouth tightened in dismay, but she didn't protest. Sam knew it was a blow to her, though. She'd had a feeding tube after her esophageal surgery and hated it.

"I'll give it a try," she said bravely.

"We'll insert a nasogastric tube. It'll be less invasive than surgically inserting a tube into your stomach or small intestine, like I think you had before. The only drawback is that you'll have a tube sticking out of your nose."

TJ shrugged. "Whatever."

She was putting up a strong front, but Sam knew the frustration she must be feeling at this latest setback because he felt the same. How much more would she have to endure? She was like the female version of Job from the Bible, never catching a break.

"If I can't keep anything down, won't I just throw up the stuff from the feeding tube?"

Dr. Williams put a hand on TJ's shoulder. "I know it seems contraindicated, but feeding directly into your stomach will decrease the abdominal or sensory stimuli that cause nausea and vomiting. You should be able to keep everything down."

TJ snorted like she would believe it when she saw it. "So, what about the babies?" she asked, changing the subject. "Are you going to check to make sure they're okay? I don't think I fell this morning, but I don't know for sure."

Dr. Williams nodded. "I'll call for an ultrasound machine."

A half an hour later, TJ's rounded belly was covered in the gel used for the ultrasound, and the lights had been dimmed in the room to see the screen better. Dr. Williams rubbed the probe over TJ's belly, getting measurements and vitals.

Sam was amazed at how much bigger the babies were. They had been little peanuts when he'd first seen them. He glanced at TJ and was moved by the expression of pride, wonder, and pure love that was on her face.

"So, do you guys want to know the gender of the babies?"

"Yes!" TJ grinned at Sam. "I've been holdin' off to find out until you could be here. The suspense has been killing me."

"Well..." Dr. Williams typed in a command on the computer and turned the dial, changing the view of the babies, then spoke with a distracted smile. "...there's no doubt that Baby A is a girl."

Sam choked out an incredulous laugh, squeezing TJ's hand. She tore her gaze from the screen and looked at him, a smile of delight transforming her face into a work of art.

Dr. Williams was oblivious to what Sam and TJ had just shared and kept talking. "Your little girl isn't shy."

TJ laughed. "She must have some of the same Winchester genes as her Uncle Dean."

Sam grimaced. "God, I hope not."

Just then, there was a knock on the door.

"Come in," said TJ.

Dean walked in.

"Hm, speak of the devil," said Dr. Williams.

Sam stiffened. Not even the excitement of learning he and TJ were having a daughter could completely erase the anger he still harbored toward Dean. TJ frowned at his reaction and then glanced at Dean.

Dean shut the door behind him and approached the side of the bed where Sam was. "Ah, the lights are out and Sam is in the room with two lovely ladies." He clapped Sam on the shoulder. "Am I interrupting something?" he teased.

Sam clenched his jaw, annoyed.

"_Three_ lovely ladies," TJ corrected. "We just found out one of the babies is a girl."

Dean moved to where he could reach TJ and gave her a hug, the million-watt Dean Winchester smile on his face. "That's awesome." Then he gripped the nape of Sam's neck and gave it a gruff squeeze. "Congratulations."

"Thanks," Sam said flatly and leaned forward a fraction. Dean got the hint and let go of Sam's neck, but Sam didn't miss the look of apology TJ shot to Dean.

Dr. Williams glided the probe over TJ's belly again and turned the dial on the computer. She tilted her head to one side, her mouth quirking in concentration, as several angles of the babies flashed across the screen. "Well," she said after a moment, "looks like Baby B isn't so cooperative. Its legs are crossed. Unlike Baby A, he or she must be a little bashful."

Dean snorted. "Must be a prude like Sam."

Dr. Williams and TJ both grinned, but then remorse and regret flashed across TJ's face when she saw that Sam wasn't amused. She squeezed his hand twice and raised her brows in a pointed look, as if trying to tell him that he needed to lighten up.

She had explained to him that it was all her fault, that Dean wanted to tell him everything from the get-go. But it didn't matter whose fault it was in Sam's opinion. The end result was the same. He had trusted Dean completely to be his eyes and ears when it came to TJ and never doubted for a second that Dean would let him know if something went wrong. But Dean hadn't. In fact, he flat-out lied to Sam when they talked on the phone. Dean's betrayal went deep. If Sam couldn't trust Dean, who could he trust?

"Look, y'all," said TJ, excited. "The mystery baby is sucking its thumb."

"Huh," said Dean. He bent forward, arms folded, and watched with hypnotic interest, the glow of the screen illuminating his features. "I didn't know babies could do stuff like that. I mean, you know, before they were born."

Dr. Williams nodded. "Oh, yeah. They do all kinds of things—suck their thumbs, get the hiccups, drink amniotic fluid and pee it out."

"Good times," said Dean.

Dr. Williams chuckled. "At this stage in development, they can hear, too. They may already know TJ's voice."

"So everything looks okay?" asked TJ.

"Yeah." Dr. Williams shook her head in amazement. "Despite everything, they're thriving. The corticosteroid probably has something to do with it, but the fact that they seem unaffected by the preeclampsia is a miracle. The blood supply to the placentas appears to be as it should be, and the babies' growth rate is perfect. Their heartbeats are strong and nothing seems off kilter from the episode this morning."

Dean frowned. "What episode?"

TJ reluctantly told him about Sam finding her on the floor, and then Dr. Williams patiently explained again what she thought happened and how she was going to change the course of TJ's treatment.

Sam only registered snippets of the conversation. All he could do was stare at the ultrasound screen. He knew he should be relieved that everything was going right with the twins, but as he watched their tiny hearts beating, all he could think was that those hearts beat with blood that could be tainted with his demon blood. He knew he shouldn't think it, that TJ would be furious and disappointed in him, but he couldn't help it.

It was like the babies were sucking the life out of her.

What else could explain why they kept growing and were so healthy while TJ's condition deteriorated with each passing hour? It was like the bigger they got, the sicker she got. The thought distressed him on so many levels. He wanted the babies and was beginning to love them, but, if he was right, if they were cursed with the evil that Yellow Eyes had put in him, maybe it was better that they didn't survive. What kind of life would they have?

His chest constricted and it was suddenly hard to breathe.

"Sam?" It was TJ, intuitive as ever where he was concerned. She squeezed his hand. "Are you okay?"

He had forgotten they were even still holding hands. His arms and hands felt strangely heavy and almost as numb as the paralyzed part of his body. He wrested his hand from her grasp and gripped his wheels. "Yeah. Yeah. I, uh...I just need, uh, some coffee. I'll be back."

He knew no one was buying it. Even Dr. Williams looked concerned, but he didn't care. He swiveled his chair away from TJ's bed and managed to get out the door before anyone could stop him.

**XXXXXXXX**

Another week and a half later, things had gone from bad to worse. TJ's kidneys were in full-on failure and she had to do what they hoped would be temporary dialysis treatments three times a week. She had developed fluid in her lungs because of the kidney failure and was often short of breath, even though she hadn't been out of bed in days. Still, she didn't complain.

She was quiet most of the time and didn't say much of anything. Sam wasn't sure if it was because she felt crappy and just didn't want to talk or if it was because she was afraid she would say something that didn't make sense. The MRI confirmed that she did not have a seizure the morning he found her on the floor, but the possibility that it could still happen—or worse, a stroke—was constantly hanging over their heads. She'd had more bouts of confusion, and it was embarrassing for her and painful for everyone else to watch.

To top it all off, she now had a roommate, another maternity patient who wailed and whined all the time while her browbeaten husband ran to do her bidding. Sam kept the privacy curtain around TJ's bed pulled where they couldn't see the woman, but there was nothing he could do about the noise—the constant litany of complaints or the TV that was on twenty-four/seven, usually with the Home and Garden Network on. Sam had inadvertently heard almost every rerun of _Curb Appeal _and _House Hunters_ ten times, their annoyingly cheery hosts and background music driving him up the wall.

Fern and Vern had arrived a week ago in time for Christmas and tried to make the best of things, joking around and basically just being there for Sam and TJ. Fern, Vern, Dean, Heather, and Sam all celebrated Christmas with TJ in the hospital, but, as usual, it had sucked, just like pretty much every Christmas in Sam's life except for the last one. He had proposed to TJ last year, but, technically, it wasn't really on Christmas. It was a few days after. Dean had been in the hospital on Christmas Day last year with pneumonia, so it still wasn't the greatest of holidays.

This year, they all pretended everything was fine and exchanged gifts. Everyone was falsely cheerful, pretending that TJ's head wasn't killing her and that it was perfectly normal that her Christmas dinner was nutritional formula through a feeding tube in her nose instead of the turkey and dressing Fern cooked and brought in for everyone else to eat—at TJ's insistence, of course.

Fern and Vern had been awestruck by the ultrasound pictures TJ showed them of the twins, but Sam saw the sadness mixed with worry that crossed Fern's features before she covered it with a beaming smile, telling TJ how beautiful the babies were. Sam had told them out of TJ's hearing how serious things were, how sick she was (as if they couldn't see it for themselves), how Dr. Williams might have to deliver the babies early and that they probably wouldn't survive.

The dialysis helped with TJ's swelling, but the more the swelling went down, the more fragile and gaunt she looked. There was no radiant, pregnant glow for TJ. She was slowly but surely withering away more with each passing day.

Everyone—TJ's parents, Dean, Heather, Gretchen, the nurses, and even Dr. Williams—tried to get Sam to go home and rest for a few hours in a real bed, but there was no way he would leave TJ. It wasn't that he didn't trust them to watch out for her and keep her company. It was that he was afraid to let her out of his sight after the incident where he'd found her on the floor by her bed. Every time _he _was away from her, something bad happened.

He at least allowed TJ to talk him into wearing his braces more. Standing up in his braces was the only time he ever really got to straighten out his long body, since the vinyl sleep chair they'd brought in and placed near her bed was hardly like a real bed. It was about four feet too short for him and only adequate when he was ready to drop from exhaustion.

He was tired, worried, and short-tempered. He fought a constant battle not to snap at everyone he came into contact with—everyone except TJ. Her, he treated like a delicate piece of china. He couldn't deny her anything, not that she asked for much. The only thing he would have said no to was if she'd asked him to go home, and she never suggested it. It was like she knew not to bother.

TJ's parents and Dean were there now, her mom sitting on the edge of the bed, Vern sitting in the sleep chair, and Dean in a plastic chair someone had brought in. Sam had his braces on under his jeans and was balancing on his crutches near the head of TJ's bed, watching over her like a sentinel while she and her parents laughed at something asinine that Dean said. Sam wasn't participating in the conversation and had no desire to.

Ivy came in and skirted around Dean, who scooted his chair out of her way. She was standing on the opposite side of the bed from Sam, and she looked up at him and shook her head. "Mm, mm, mm. You're too damn tall, boy." Ivy was a big woman, but she was several inches shorter than Sam—even with her hair weaves piled high on her head in an elaborate updo. Her rich voice that always seemed to fill every inch of the room softened. "I hope your face don't freeze with that scowl on it, honey."

"That's Sammy," said Dean sarcastically. "Always a barrel of laughs."

Sam ground his teeth in irritation.

Vern peered at Sam dubiously with his shrewd, bright-blue eyes, which were made even brighter by their contrast with his weathered, sun-darkened skin. He had short, gray hair and kind of reminded Sam of a picture he'd once seen of Will Rogers.

"Whoo-wee, son," said Vern. "I wouldn't wanna meet up with you in a dark alley."

"Give him a break, y'all," Ferna Sue admonished. "You'd be grouchy too if you'd been sleepin' on that thing for a week." Her eyes indicated the sleep chair.

Sam had nothing to say and turned his attention back to Ivy, watching as she checked TJ's vitals. Ivy always kept her expression professionally aloof, but Sam had noticed that she tightened her mouth almost imperceptibly whenever there was something she didn't like. She was doing it now as she listened to TJ's chest with a stethoscope. "Take some deep breaths for me, baby."

TJ inhaled and exhaled a few times as deeply as she could. Sam could hear the bubbling, crackling sound of her lungs from where he stood.

"You having more trouble breathing?"

"No."

Ivy gave her the gimlet eye.

"Maybe a little," TJ corrected. "Why?"

"The fluid sounds worse, and your pulse ox is lower."

TJ's head sank back into her pillow. "Oh."

Ivy donned her unreadable expression again. "We'll see what Dr. Williams says."

Everyone sat in silence, either wondering what it meant and afraid to ask or, like Sam, knowing that Dr. Williams would probably put TJ on oxygen. He wondered how that would work with the nasogastric tube. She'd had the thin, clear, narrow tube over a week now, taped to the side of her cheek. It looked kind of like a stray rice noodle randomly sticking out of her nose when it wasn't in use. He didn't think it did much good, although at least she was able to keep the formula down. She just kept getting worse, though, no matter what Dr. Williams tried. And the babies kept thriving.

Ivy spoke with authority. "All right. I need you-all to leave for a while. Go get you some lunch. Baby and I got some things we need to take care of." Ivy never called TJ by her name anymore. She had practically adopted her and rechristened her "Baby." She started preparing a bag of nutritional formula to hook up to TJ's feeding tube.

Fern gave Ivy a faint smile. She never seemed annoyed by Ivy's familiarity with her daughter and got along well with the sassy nurse.

Fern was a slight woman in her fifties with blond hair cut in a puffy bob. It was always heavily sprayed, never a hair out of place, and sometimes looked a little like a helmet. She leaned over and kissed TJ on the forehead.

Everyone got up then, and Dean gently gripped TJ's wrist. "I gotta go back to work, but you owe me a rematch—soon. This time Texas hold 'em."

She smiled. "You sure you want another ass-kickin'?"

Dean arched his brows. "Beginner's luck."

She laughed softly.

Vern squeezed TJ's big toe through the hospital blanket. "See you in a little bit, Little Bit."

"'Kay, Daddy." She looked and sounded so young, so vulnerable. She was pale, and her freckles made it look like someone had sprinkled cinnamon across her nose and cheekbones.

Sam stared at the mound of her belly under the blanket and felt a twisting ache in his gut. Everyone walked out and he was the only one left, but he couldn't seem to make his body move. He could hear the theme song to _Curb Appeal _in the background and TJ's roommate bitching about something.

"You too, Redwood," Ivy prodded. She called him "Redwood" after the gigantic California redwood trees.

TJ shifted her legs restlessly and turned a little onto her side. "Go eat with them, Sam. I'll be okay."

He looked at Ivy. "I'll be waiting outside."

TJ rolled her eyes. "Might as well get him a feeding tube, too."

"I will if he don't get out of here," Ivy threatened. She was waiting to connect the feeding tube to the formula tubing until he left because she knew, as did he, that TJ didn't like anyone to see. It really wasn't that big of a deal. It wasn't gross or anything, but TJ was sometimes particular about things like that.

"I'll be back," he said to her.

"Okay. _Get some food_," she ordered.

He reluctantly turned to leave. The muted thud of his crutches hitting the floor and the shuffle of his feet as he swung them through made a steady rhythm. When he emerged into the hallway, he looked up from his feet to see Dean, Vern, and Fern all waiting for him. He was unreasonably annoyed. "Why did you wait for me?"

"Well, son," said Vern, "where I come from, it's called bein' polite."

Sam realized he was being a dick and ducked his head. "I'm sorry."

Fern squeezed his arm, a worried look on her face.

Sam wanted to shout at her that he wasn't the one she should be worried about. Instead, he forced himself to speak civilly. "Thank you for waiting, but I'll just stay here until Ivy is finished with TJ." He shifted his weight on his crutches, feeling his arms and shoulders getting fatigued. He'd been standing for a while.

Dean was scowling. "Go eat, Sam. You need a break."

Sam clenched his jaw, not in the mood for Dean's big brother crap. "I thought you were going back to work."

"I am. As soon as you go with Fern and Vern to get something to eat."

"The cafeteria is too far away to go on crutches and I don't have my chair."

"Then go get it," Dean retorted.

Sam's temper snapped. "Don't fucking tell me what to do, Dean. You lost that right."

Ferna Sue and Vern looked taken aback.

Dean's jaw hardened. "How long you gonna hold it against me, Sammy?"

"As long as I feel like it, _Dean," _Sam ground out. "As long as I _fucking_ feel like it."

_**TBC**_

_**A/N: Remember folks, next chapter will be posted TOMORROW. Sam will finally have it out with Dean...  
**_


	10. Chapter 10

**_A/N: I posted Chapter 9 yesterday, so if you haven't read it yet, read it first. :) I will begin posting again on Wednesday, August 1st, so don't forget me!_  
**

**_Thanks so much to skzb for her fabulous suggestions and to catsluver for helping me make the last scene of this chapter much more dramatic and medically correct. Any mistakes are mine, all mine.  
_**

**_Thanks also to those of you who reviewed as guests. I can't reply personally if you are a guest, but please know that I really, really appreciate you taking the time to drop me a line.  
_**

**Chapter 10**

Sam was at his boiling point, and he could feel scalding rage rising from someplace deep inside him.

Dean glanced at Ferna Sue and Vern and then back to Sam. "Dude, you wanna watch your mouth?"

"I said don't tell me what to do." Sam tried to keep his anger under control and shook with the effort, his jaw clenched tight and a death grip on his crutches.

"Here, now," said Vern. "What's goin' on between you two?"

"My brother is a liar," Sam answered, staring Dean down.

Dean reddened. "You know that's not true."

"Oh, really, Dean?" Sam was skeptical and let it show in his voice, filling it with acid. "Because I seem to recall asking you several times how TJ was doing, and you told me everything was fine."

Dean didn't say anything.

"But it wasn't, was it, Dean? Everything wasn't _fine_. You let me go about my business at Berkeley as if nothing was wrong, as if TJ was safely at home studying for her next exam."

Dean cast an uneasy glance at Fern and Vern. A nurse passed by, looking at them all with curiosity. "You really wanna do this right here, right now?" asked Dean.

"Why not?" Sam jeered. "Let's tell Fern and Vern how TJ was in the hospital for almost a _week_ before I ever found out. We don't need to tell the nursing staff, though, do we? Oh, no._" _He let out a bitter laugh. "I mean, they all knew way before I did, right?"

Fern frowned and Vern looked wary.

Dean rubbed his fingers over his mouth in agitation.

"Hell," Sam went on cynically, "if the semester hadn't ended, I'd probably still be at Berkeley, still clueless that she was here, still sitting there on my ass like the chump that I was!"

Dean's voice was a low growl. "It wasn't like that, Sam. You know why I didn't tell you."

"No, I don't, _Dean._ I trusted you! _You _were the only reason I went back to Berkeley at all, because I thought _you _would tell me if she got worse, even if she wouldn't. I trusted _you _to tell me if she needed me, so why don't you fucking enlighten me on why you didn't?"

"Because she didn't want me to, Sam!" Dean shouted. "Because she was worried about you being in the middle of finals, and every time I said that I was gonna tell you, she got upset and her blood pressure went up. Because there was nothing you could do anyway and because I knew I could watch over her for you. She wanted you to finish the semester, and she knew you wouldn't if we told you. It's as simple as that!" Dean seemed to realize his voice had escalated and lowered it, but it was no less intense. "And because she was sick and scared, and I couldn't say no to her any more than you could."

Sam was breathing hard, fury coursing through his veins. "Don't you use her as an excuse," he hissed.

"Boys—" Fern began.

"I'm sorry, man," Dean said to Sam, inadvertently interrupting Fern. His tone was solemn and sincere.

"Not good enough."

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face and then focused intently on Sam. "So you're gonna forgive TJ but not me?"

Sam just stared at him.

"I'm not the only one who lied to you, Sammy."

Sam nearly choked on a wave of rage—rage at Dean for saying that TJ had lied, even if it was true, and rage that there was nothing Sam could do to help her. He shifted his weight to one arm and grabbed Dean's red Firestone shirt with his other hand, twisting it in a vise-like grip, forearm crutch hanging off his arm. His balance was precarious, but he didn't care.

Dean grabbed onto Sam's shirt with both hands in a defensive gesture, chin vibrating with heated emotion.

Fern gasped. "Lord a' mercy," she said, covering her mouth with her hand.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Vern intervened. He was shorter than both Dean and Sam, but he was wiry and strong. He put a hand on each of their chests, trying to break them apart but not pushing hard enough to cause Sam to fall.

Sam ignored him.

"Come on, Sammy," said Dean through gritted teeth. "Don't do this."

"Son," Vern said to Sam, "I know you're worried about TJ, but this ain't gonna help her none. She already feels guilty enough about all this without you two at each other's throats."

That got through to Sam, and he tore his gaze from Dean to look at Vern.

Vern nodded. "That's right. She done told me and Ferna Sue about all of it. She feels bad that she's the cause of the rift between you two boys, that she talked Dean into doing something he didn't wanna do. Don't make her feel worse. But if you gotta have it out with each other, best to do it where she can't hear you." He eyed the nearby door to TJ's room pointedly. It was cracked open.

Sam hoped to God she hadn't heard him, that he hadn't upset her. He felt his anger start to subside, felt himself deflate. He let go of Dean's shirt and placed his hand back on the handgrip of his crutch. Dean let go too, raising his hands to show he meant no harm.

Vern's eyes were wise and piercing as he spoke to Sam. "But you know what? The best thing you could do for TJ would be to put this behind you. It'd sure take a burden off her shoulders that she don't need."

Ferna Sue, who was over a foot shorter than Sam, put an arm around his waist and gave him a hug. "You're here for her now, hon," she pointed out. "That's all that really matters."

Sam looked away, fighting a sudden burning in his throat, and swallowed. God, he was so worried about TJ. He contemplated what Dean said about not being able to say no to her, and he knew Dean was right. If the tables were turned, Sam wouldn't have been able to say no to her either. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. He felt drained, his exhaustion making itself known in every cell of his body.

"You want me to get your chair so you can go eat?" Dean asked. It was an offer of peace and Dean's way of accepting Sam's apology.

Sam closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "No, thanks."

Dean was back in big-brother mode. "Then let Fern and Vern bring something back if you won't go with them."

Sam opened his eyes, squinting a bit. He was so tired it was hard to focus. When he saw the looks of concern aimed at him, he relented about the food and spoke to Fern. "Would you mind bringing me something?"

"Of course not, sugar. Any requests?"

He had no appetite and couldn't care less what they brought back. "No. Whatever you think looks good."

Fern gave him another hug and then left with Vern, walking down the hallway and disappearing around the corner where the elevators were.

"I'll be back later tonight after I take Rocket for a run," said Dean.

"You don't have to do that—spend all your free time up here."

"Yeah. I do." And with that, Dean was gone.

**XXXXXXXX**

Sam had no idea how long he stood in the hallway after everyone left. He was numb, not letting himself think on everything that had been said. He just wanted to get back to TJ, needed to be with her to keep his sanity.

Finally, the door opened and Ivy stepped out. "All right, Redwood. You can go back in. She wants you to take her out to the terrace." She was talking about the small rooftop garden that could be accessed from TJ's floor. "She's unhooked from everything."

"You think that's a good idea?"

Ivy pursed her lips. "I think you both need a break and some fresh air. Sometimes nature does more good than all the meds in the world. It's been a while since she felt the sun on her face, you know?"

"Yeah."

"Just don't stay out there too long, and let me know when you're back so I can hook up her IV again."

"Okay."

"I'll help you get her out of bed, and then I'm gonna call Dr. Williams while you two are outside. Dr. Williams will probably want to put TJ on oxygen," Ivy warned.

Sam knew that, but it still made his heart sink. He nodded.

Ivy patted his arm in sympathy and headed back into TJ's room, Sam following behind her.

TJ looked like she felt a little better when he came in. She wasn't quite as pale and seemed perkier. Maybe getting something in her stomach had helped a little bit after all.

"You didn't get anything to eat," she accused.

"Uh, not yet."

She looked dismayed.

"Your parents are bringing me something from the cafeteria when they come back.

"Good."

His wheelchair was sitting out of the way in a corner, and he crutched over to it. He knew the brakes were locked on it because he'd locked them earlier in order to stand up with his braces. He turned his back to his chair and then sort of plopped-fell into it. There was really no graceful way to do it, since the braces stayed locked and made it impossible to bend his knees. He put his crutches behind him, leaning them in the corner.

Once he was seated, he flipped the locking mechanism on the thigh part of his right brace, releasing it into free mode. He got his knee to bend and lifted his leg with his hands to where his foot was on the footplate. He tried to repeat the procedure for his left brace, but it wasn't cooperating and stayed locked. It sometimes happened.

"Need some help?" asked Ivy.

"Yeah. If you could just pick up my foot. Sometimes the brace thinks my weight's still on it."

TJ smirked. "It _thinks_?"

"It's a smart brace," he said, quirking his mouth.

Ivy picked up his foot and raised his leg. He noted absently that the tennis shoes that he wore with his braces were getting kind of scuffed and worn, but he had much bigger things to worry about. He tried flipping the lever to unlock his brace, and this time it released. "I think I got it," he said.

Ivy lowered his foot back to the floor, and he lifted his leg at the knee with his hand, placing his foot on the footplate. Then he pushed himself over to TJ's bed. "I heard you wanted a ride."

"Yeah. I'm gettin' cabin fever. Is it cold outside?"

He realized he had no idea. It had been several days since he'd been outside. It was the end of December, so it was possible it could be chilly.

"It's San Diego," said Ivy. "It's gorgeous out there, sunny and mid-sixties. I'll get your hoodie, though, just in case." She grabbed it out of a nearby wardrobe and helped TJ put it on.

Ferna Sue had bought TJ several sets of maternity pajamas and hoodies from the Gap for Christmas. Sam didn't mind TJ's hodgepodge mixture of his old T-shirts and her quirky pajama pants, but he had to admit, the way the new clothes that she was wearing today clung to her body and accentuated her belly and breasts was sexy. TJ joked that the boob fairy had come for a visit.

At first, he'd felt a little guilty being turned on by his pregnant wife who was so ill, but then he'd decided it was okay. After all, it wasn't like she was the Virgin Mary, and he couldn't help it. To him, she was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. Part of that beauty was the strength and class with which she had endured everything. It made him love her all the more.

Ivy helped TJ slip on the suede, sheepskin-lined slippers Sam gave her for Christmas.

On Sam's behalf (because no way would he leave TJ to go Christmas shopping himself), Fern had gotten her a pair of expensive Ugg moccasin house shoes. Judging by TJ's exuberant reaction when she opened the gift, she considered them quite a luxury. She didn't have much chance to wear them, though, because she hardly ever left her bed.

Ivy helped begin the slow process of getting TJ out of bed, and Sam tried not to pay attention to how weak TJ was, tried not to worry that she couldn't even make it from the bed to where he was, less than a foot away, without help.

She sat on his lap facing forward because her belly made it too cumbersome to sit sideways and rested her head back on his shoulder, her cheek next to his. "Is this gonna work?"

"Yeah."

"You sure? I don't wanna cause you to tip over backwards or throw you off balance." She grabbed the loose denim of his jeans on each side for purchase.

It was true that she was putting a lot of weight on his upper body, but the backrest of his chair gave him enough support that he wasn't worried. "It's fine."

"Can you see where you're going?" she asked.

"Yeah." He breathed in the scent of her, part flower and mint, part hospital antiseptic, and relished the heat of her body against him. Having her so close was calming and relaxing to him, made him feel like he could protect her. "Are your feet on top of mine?"

"Yeah."

He looked at Ivy. "I guess we're ready."

She nodded. "All right. Have fun, kids. No staying out past curfew."

Sam wheeled himself and TJ to the large outdoor terrace, garnering curious looks along the way, and found a relatively secluded spot where they could talk in private. There were a few other patients and family members milling around or sitting on benches, but it wasn't too crowded.

They sat quietly for a minute, soaking in the sun. Ivy was right. It was a beautiful day. His arms were wrapped around TJ, his hands on top of hers over her belly.

"Maybe I should sit on a bench," she said. "What if I squish your legs?"

He kissed her cheek. "You won't."

"Lord, Sam. I probably weigh five hundred pounds."

"You don't."

She huffed. "I don't think you're a good judge, since you can't feel how much I weigh."

"It'll be okay."

She exhaled. "I should sit on a bench," she said again. "But I'm selfish. I kind of like where I am."

"I like where you are too. Besides, you probably couldn't get to a bench by yourself, anyway."

She snorted a wry laugh. "Thanks for the reminder."

He lifted one of her hands to his lips, kissing the back of it, and then studied it. Her fingers looked more like they were supposed to, long and graceful, less like sausages. He wished it wasn't the dialysis that was making the swelling go down and that her kidneys would start functioning properly again.

"So, Bobby called while you were out in the hall," she said.

"Huh. What did he have to say?"

"He said to tell you to stop being a chucklehead and forgive your brother."

"You heard us in the hallway?"

"It was kind of hard not to."

He rested his chin on her shoulder and shut his eyes.

"Did y'all hash it all out, or are you still mad at him?"

"Who, Bobby?" He was being deliberately obtuse.

"You know who I'm talkin' about," she chided.

He exhaled a long breath and opened his eyes. "No. I'm not mad at him."

She let out a subtle, relieved breath, and her body seemed to relax, like a burden had suddenly been lifted off her shoulders. He felt better too. Maybe it wasn't even really Dean he'd been mad at. Maybe he'd just needed a target for the maddening helplessness he felt because there was nothing he could do but watch TJ get worse.

She took his hand and kissed the knuckle of his thumb.

He tightened his arms around her. "I love you," he said into her ear.

"I love you, too." She turned her face toward him and kissed his cheek, then nuzzled her nose next to his skin. "Mmm," she drawled, "you always smell so good."

He smiled. "So do you."

They passed another few moments in silence, enjoying the warmth of the sun on their faces, the crisp breeze, and each other's company.

TJ was the first to break the silence. "You know, we never resumed our talk about Berkeley."

He immediately tensed.

"You're not goin' back, are you?"

He didn't answer at first. He didn't want to lie, but he didn't want to upset her. "We'll see," he said finally.

She huffed. "My mama used to say that when she meant no."

"It depends on how things go. There's still time to make a decision. I don't have to be back until January 11th."

"I don't think I'm gonna get any better." She sounded resigned.

He shrugged. "I can always withdraw and take a leave of absence. Don't worry about it, Teej. It'll work out."

"What about your job?"

"Parker suggested I start taking on work as a freelance paralegal. He's got plenty of work for me—drafting pleadings and letters, research, writing briefs, stuff like that—and he's got friends here in San Diego that he'll recommend me to. It's perfect, really. I can pretty much work from anywhere and take on as much or as little as I want. I just need access to a law library if I can't find what I need online."

"Sounds like you got it all worked out." She didn't sound too thrilled.

"We need the money," he said frankly.

"But you'll go back to school eventually, right?"

He couldn't make himself say yes. He was afraid to, afraid he would bring even worse luck on her and himself by tempting fate. It seemed he wasn't meant to ever finish law school, no matter how much he wanted to. "If it's possible, I will," he said cautiously.

She sighed. "I suppose I'll have to take what I can get."

He buried his face in the curve of her neck, breathing her in, not wanting to talk about law school anymore.

"So, on New Year's Day, I'll be 23 weeks."

"Yeah."

"We need to talk about names."

He didn't want to. Names would make the twins more real, more human. "We don't know the sex of one of them," he said lamely.

"Oh, right." Her tone was sarcastic. "So is that a new rule, that you can't discuss names unless you know the gender of the baby?"

He didn't answer.

"Hmm, wonder what people did in the olden days before ultrasounds were invented?"

He still didn't say anything.

"We know one of them is a girl."

He kissed her neck. "We can name her after you."

"Hell, no!"

He chuckled. "What about after your mom?"

"Oh, Lord. My family's names are off limits."

"Why?"

"Look at what we have to choose from—Gertrude, Joyce, Ferna Sue. The list doesn't get any better." She unzipped her hoodie, letting more air get to her. Her temperature got out of whack a lot. Sometimes she got cold, but most of the time she was too warm.

"You hot?"

She shrugged as if to say, _What else is new? _ "What about your mom's name—Mary?"

"I, uh, kind of always thought that's what Dean would name his daughter, if he ever had one."

She waited a moment before speaking. "She was your mother, too, Sam."

"Dean knew her, though. He has memories of her."

"What if he never has a daughter?"

He was silent.

"I doubt Dean would mind if we used Mary's name," she ventured.

"Maybe not," he replied, noncommittal. He didn't want to talk about this. It was strangely painful.

"Okay. Fine." She sounded miffed. "Let's talk about something else, then. If—if something happens, if I get to where I can't speak for myself—"

He put his finger over her lips to silence her. "You talk too much." He kissed her earlobe, trying to distract her.

She turned her head away and grabbed his wrist, pulling his finger away from her mouth. "We have to talk about it, Sam. We never got it resolved before, and I need to know where you stand. I need your word that you're on the babies' side."

He lifted his head up and looked at the blue sky, wondering how he was going to tell her how he felt without upsetting her.

"Sam?"

"I can't—I can't. I'm—I think you need to really think about this. There's so many—I mean, it's—it's..." He was really botching this up. He drew in a deep breath and started over. "It's already too dangerous for you, TJ—and I'm not talking about what could happen to your brain if you have a seizure or a stroke. That's scary enough, but let's talk about what's happening right now. Your kidneys are _failing._ We're talking about something that could end up being permanent if we don't deliver the babies soon. Do you want to be on dialysis the rest of your life or have to have a kidney transplant?"

"If that's what it takes."

He exhaled a frustrated breath through his nose, mouth tight. "What if something happens to you, TJ? What if you die? If you're not here for them, what's the point? I grew up without a mother and it sucked. Do you want that for them? Because I sure as hell don't."

She stiffened, tone angry and incredulous. "So you'd rather _them_ be dead?"

"There are other options, TJ. This isn't our only chance to have kids, but there's only one you."

Her body radiated furious heat against him. "Fuck you then, Sam. I'm not going through all this for the fun of it. I _love_ them. Do you hear me? They are our flesh and blood, our children, and they are _not _replaceable!"

He could feel the unnatural vibration of her lungs, could hear the burbling sound of the fluid there. So much for not upsetting her. His gut twisted in fear, knowing her blood pressure was probably rising too. "I'm sorry, Teej. I shouldn't have said it like that."

"I know I don't have a right to ask after breaking my promise to you," her voice was shaky, "but, please, Sam, promise me you won't let our babies be delivered until it's safe, until they have a fighting chance."

"Shh. It's okay."

"No, it's not! I need to know." She was trembling.

"Shh. Getting worked up won't help you or them."

"I need to know. Please. Just one more week. Promise me you won't let anything happen until 24 weeks. Please," she begged.

His heart ached for her, but he couldn't do it. He couldn't make that promise. He couldn't choose the babies over her if it came to that. He just couldn't.

"Please, Sam." She drew in a labored breath. "You have to promise me. Just one more week." She made a noise that was half cough, half sob.

The sound of it tore into him. Jesus Christ, how was he supposed to deny her? He was scared to death that she was about to have a seizure or a stroke, and his heart was pounding. He needed to calm her down. When he spoke, his voice was smooth and even, despite his fear. "Okay, okay. I promise, TJ. I promise."

She didn't respond.

"Do you hear me? I promise."

She nodded and heaved in another breath, tears rolling down her face.

She was too out of breath to speak, and that scared him even more. "Easy, Teej." He spoke softly. "It's okay. It's okay. Everything will be okay."

She drew in another hitched breath.

"Just breathe with me. Okay?" In a steady rhythm, he breathed near her ear so she could hear him and feel his exhales on her skin. At the same time, he rubbed circles on the back of her hand with his thumb.

He felt her begin to calm. Her breathing slowed down and she seemed less panicked. After a moment, she sniffed and wiped her eyes.

"I'm taking you back, now. Okay?"

"'Kay."

He was relieved she could speak, although her breathing still wasn't quite right.

She laid her head all the way back onto his shoulder, her throat arched toward the sun.

He began to push his chair toward the entrance to the hospital, feeling a knot in his gut, and hoped he wasn't going to regret making that promise.

**XXXXXXXX**

On New Year's Day, a couple of days later, nothing had really changed, except for Sam's sleeping arrangement. TJ had been moved to a different floor, to one of the VIP suites in the hospital, paid for by an anonymous benefactor.

The benefactor wasn't that great of a mystery because TJ was moved later the same day that Sam had the argument with Dean. Sam and TJ figured Dean must have told Heather about it and about how exhausted Sam was. Heather's parents were rich and were the most likely candidates, although Sam supposed it could have been Dr. Rostom. However, the doctor wasn't privy to the fact that TJ's hospital roommate had displaced Sam out of a bed and was, at the same time, driving him crazy with the Home and Garden Network.

Each VIP suite was almost like an apartment, except there was no kitchen. There was a living area complete with a sofa that made into a bed where Sam slept. It was a little lumpy but a vast improvement from the sleep chair. At least he was able to stretch out and sleep on his stomach, even if his feet hung off the end of the bed. It was okay. It wasn't like he could feel it. Putting a pillow under his legs helped, and he wore socks to keep his feet warm in case he inadvertently pulled the covers off his feet when he slept.

TJ's part of the room was the "bedroom," where she lay in a regular hospital bed surrounded by all her monitors and IV bags. There was a TV in both rooms, so she could watch what she wanted and Sam could, too. The bedroom and living area could be partitioned off with a hard, accordion-like plastic curtain if TJ needed privacy.

She was on oxygen now via a nasal cannula that fit in her nose along with the thin feeding tube she still had sticking out of it. Vern had teased that all she needed was a nose ring to complete the ensemble. She was still in good spirits for the most part, hiding any discomfort she felt, but Sam wasn't fooled. She was getting weaker and sleeping more.

She was almost six months pregnant. This was the time in her pregnancy she was supposed to be energetic. She was supposed to be nesting, getting a nursery ready, and buying baby clothes—not wasting away in a hospital.

The babies were fine, still getting stronger with each passing day. Dr. Williams continued to marvel that no complications had developed with the placentas, that no matter what went with wrong with TJ, the babies seemed to be unscathed.

But Sam wasn't surprised.

He could hardly stand to sit through the ultrasounds or listen to the twins' heartbeats. He hated how everyone oohed and awed over them, how everyone acted like it was okay that they were draining the life from TJ. Demon blood or not, they were killing her. And, God help him, he had promised her that he would let them—at least for another week.

_Just one more week._ It was his mantra. He'd already talked it over with Dr. Williams. She concurred that they should deliver at 24 weeks, that TJ's condition was too unpredictable, that she could have a severe seizure or stroke or her kidneys could be permanently damaged if they waited any longer.

He wasn't sure TJ would go for it. If her condition stayed the same, she would say they should wait a little longer, that each week the babies were in her womb was one more week where they could continue to develop, one more week where the risk of complications from premature birth would diminish. He didn't care. _One more week._ That was all he was giving them, and he'd find a way to talk her into delivering before it was too late for _her_.

It was evening. Fern and Vern had just left, but Heather and Dean lingered. Sam wished they would leave. TJ was tired and needed to rest, but she would never admit that—and she would be irritated if Sam said it.

Heather, who hadn't been to visit for a couple of days because of her work, was sitting next to TJ's bed, while Sam sat on the sofa watching college football on the TV with Dean.

Heather never suggested she and TJ look at baby clothes and furniture online anymore. The future was too uncertain. Instead, they talked about everything under the sun except for anything to do with the babies. Even TJ avoided talking about them, at least when Sam was around, but whether that was due to a fear that the twins wouldn't make it or that she knew Sam didn't want to hear about them, he couldn't tell.

He knew he was being a dick, that it hurt her that he didn't want to talk about the babies, that he didn't feel the same as she did. He'd tried to act excited about them, but he'd somehow lost his ability to be a good con man. Once he got TJ through this pregnancy and _if_ the twins survived, then he would try harder to love them. It wasn't that he didn't want them. He'd been in awe of them that first ultrasound he saw them, had even felt protective of them, but that was before TJ's health deteriorated each day before his eyes. She was putting the babies first, but someone had to put _her_ first.

He was lost in thought and wasn't paying attention to TJ and Heather's conversation, but then he heard TJ say something about the suite.

"It was your parents, wasn't it?" TJ asked. She had a look on her face that said she already knew the answer.

Heather sat there for a second, then lifted her shoulders and gave a crooked, enigmatic smile. "Maybe."

Sam looked at Dean and kept his voice low. "Did you know?"

Dean shook his head. "I mean, I suspected, but she never said anything."

"Lord, Heather," said TJ. "It's too much. Your parents don't even know us."

Heather waved away TJ's words. "That doesn't matter. They love throwing their money at people they don't know. My mom has about ten different charities she's involved with that they give money to."

Sam stiffened. He didn't like being a charity case.

Heather seemed to realize that and backpedaled. "I mean—I don't mean you guys are a charity case. My parents did it as a favor to me. They're trying to..." she made air quotes with her fingers, "...repair our relationship, which means they've pissed off my brother and he won't have anything to do with them. Now they're thinking a paramedic daughter isn't such a bad thing after all. I figured why not take advantage of it?"

Sam felt uneasy. "You didn't have to do that, Heather."

She smiled wryly. "Yeah, I did." She started humming the theme song to _House Hunters._

TJ and Dean laughed and Sam managed a grin. "We'll pay them back," he said.

"They don't expect you to."

"Doesn't matter. We'll pay them back."

Heather shrugged. "Suit yourself. But you can take a long time to do it."

"Thanks, Heather," said TJ.

Heather seemed uncomfortable with the gratitude. "It's not a big deal. Really."

"Yeah, it is," said Sam. "There's a whiny pregnant lady down on the fourth floor that's alive tonight because of you."

Heather grinned and turned to TJ. The grin fell from her face.

Sam looked at TJ, saw what Heather saw, that TJ didn't look right. His heart stopped.

Heather jumped up and grabbed TJ's hand, leaning close to her. "TJ? TJ, can you hear me?"

TJ didn't answer. Her eyes looked strange—glassy and protruding—and her face was distorted into a grimace.

Sam's heart started to hammer with a vengeance. "What's wrong with her, Heather?" But he already knew. He swiftly transferred from the sofa into his chair and pushed himself to the other side of TJ's bed, Dean following behind him.

Heather ignored Sam as if she hadn't heard his question, her brow creased in concentration. She glanced quickly at her watch and then pushed the call button on the bed panel.

"_Yes? Can I help you?"_ said a tinny voice.

"TJ's having a seizure." Heather spoke calmly, but there was repressed urgency in her tone.

"_We'll be right there,"_ replied the nurse instantly.

Heather lowered TJ's bed so that it was flat and positioned TJ's head so that her neck was arched upward.

Sam watched in frozen terror as his worst nightmare unfolded before his eyes.

TJ's face started twitching and her body grew rigid. Her pregnant belly seemed grotesquely huge to Sam, a hideous protrusion from her stiff, contorted body. She went into convulsions then, alternating between violent contractions of every muscle in her body and then suddenly relaxing, over and over, in a rapid, jerky sequence. Foam started coming from her mouth and Heather gently wiped it away with a Kleenex from a box on the bedside table.

A doctor and a nurse pushing a crash cart came running into the room. The nurse was speaking in a hurried manner, giving the doctor a quick history on TJ. She looked familiar but Sam couldn't remember her name and suddenly wished that Ivy was there. Ivy was competent and familiar, and he trusted her.

The nurse, a stout girl with dirty-blond hair in a ponytail, looked at Heather as if she recognized her. "You're a paramedic."

Heather gave a small nod of acknowledgment, then looked toward TJ. "She's been seizing for about thirty seconds," she said with intensity.

TJ's lips were blue and she was making choking sounds, and all Sam could do was watch in helpless horror. He'd heard that people sometimes bit or swallowed their own tongues during a seizure, and the thought caused his stomach to lurch sickeningly. His throat constricted and he felt like he was choking right along with her.

The doctor took one look at TJ and swore under his breath. "Let's get her bagged!" he barked at the nurse.

From the crash cart, the nurse grabbed what looked like an oxygen mask with a blue football-shaped bag attached to it and quickly removed the nasal cannula from TJ's nose. Then she placed the mask over TJ's nose and mouth and began squeezing the bag periodically, forcing air into TJ's lungs.

Dean scrubbed a shaking hand over his face, clearly upset. Sam's focus narrowed to TJ, and he could barely hear what the doctor and nurse said to one another because of the blood roaring in his ears. His whole world was collapsing.

Another woman in scrubs rushed into the room. The nurse gave her a quick rundown of what was going on, and the newcomer took over the job of pushing air into TJ's lungs. It vaguely registered with Sam that the woman was Julia, the respiratory therapist that had been in to check on TJ a few times.

The doctor, a young guy with wire-rimmed glasses and pudgy fingers, spoke to the nurse as he studied TJ's monitors. "Did Williams leave a PRN for magnesium sulfate?"

She nodded. "I grabbed it on the way. I've got it here, ready to go."

"All right. Let's get that going. What about hydralazine?"

Again, a nod. "Got it."

"All right. Let's see if we can get her blood pressure to come down."

The nurse quickly prepared the syringes of medication and injected them into TJ's IV port. The doctor grabbed TJ's flailing arm and tried to keep it still. "We need to keep her PICC line secure, keep her from jarring it loose." He looked at Heather. "How long?"

"Seventy-five seconds," she answered.

It seemed like a lifetime had passed to Sam when the medications finally started to kick in and the seizure began to wane. TJ's body stopped jerking and flailing and she appeared to be unconscious.

"She's breathing again on her own," Julia said to the doctor, but she didn't remove the mask from TJ's face. She continued to give gentle squeezes of the bag each time TJ inhaled, watching the monitors.

The doctor also watched the monitors, and, after a moment, he looked relieved. "Looks like everything is starting to even out. Pulse ox looks better and her pressure is coming down." He looked at the nurse. "Vicky, can you hook her up to the fetal monitor?"

The nurse—Vicky, apparently—quickly grabbed the fetal monitoring belt that was always near TJ's bed, lifted up TJ's shirt, and ran the belt under TJ's back and over the bare mound of her belly, attaching the sensors to her skin. At the same time, Julia placed a regular oxygen mask on TJ's face.

The doctor looked at Dean and Heather. "Are you family? I'm Dr. Snow, by the way."

Sam was in a strange state, somewhere between shock and hysteria, and he almost laughed at the doctor's name. It was appropriate, since Dr. Snow had a thatch of spiky, snow-white blond hair on the top of his head.

"I'm her brother-in-law," Dean answered. He nodded toward Sam. "He's her husband."

Sam felt a stab of self-loathing and clenched his eyes shut, feeling sick to his stomach. _Her husband_. Her useless fucking husband who had just sat and watched her convulsing and not breathing.

Dr. Snow offered his hand to Sam. "Derek Snow."

Sam looked up at the doctor and shook his hand. "Sam," he managed.

"I'm sure you can guess, Sam, what just happened, since your wife has been on bed rest because of preeclampsia for several weeks."

Sam nodded.

"The eclamptic seizure is over now, but she'll probably be comatose for a while."

Sam felt like his mouth was full of cotton and nodded, unable to speak. He knew that coma was something that could happen with eclampsia. He'd done all the reading.

Dr. Snow looked sympathetic. "I know it sounds scary, but coma or unconsciousness often happens after an eclamptic seizure. We're not talking irreversible here. It's temporary, and when we say 'coma,' it doesn't necessarily mean a state of complete unconsciousness. The duration is usually anywhere from one to five days—sometimes more, sometimes less. As I indicated, she may regain some level of consciousness but won't really know what's going on. She may have bouts where she's agitated or combative."

Sam's eyes settled on TJ. She looked peaceful now, as if nothing had happened and she was just asleep.

"I'm sorry. I understand she's still in her second trimester, not yet 24 weeks," said Dr. Snow.

Sam suddenly felt weak. "Yeah."

Dr. Snow's expression was grave. "I'm going to page Dr. Williams. I'm afraid there are some things you need to discuss with her, some decisions to make."

Sam swallowed hard. Yes. There would be decisions to make—and a promise to keep or break.

_**TBC**_

_**A/N: Don't forget. I'll post Chapter 11 on Wednesday, August 1st, so please tune in. Next chap will be a doozy and has my version of Soulless Sam, so I hope it will be worth the wait!  
**_


	11. Chapter 11

_**A/N: You guys still with me? I had a great vacation, but I'm still struggling with jetlag. I'm glad to be back.**_

_**On a different note, thanks so much to my fabulous betas, skzb and Catsluver. You totally rock! Any mistakes or inaccuracies, medical or otherwise, are not their fault. Inaccuracies are either due to literary license or plain old BS on my part. :-) I hope you guys will forgive me. I did try to make things as realistic as possible.**_

_**Thanks to those of you who reviewed as guests. Hopefully, I was able to respond to those of you who signed in. If I missed someone, it wasn't intentional. All reviews are very much appreciated!**_

_**Anyway, since it's been so long since my last post, here's a little summary: **__**TJ made Sam promise that he would choose the twins over her if it came to that. On New Years' Day, she had a severe seizure that left her in a mild coma.**_

**Chapter 11**

Sam gripped the wheels of his chair, feeling the tread of the narrow tires digging into his palms, and watched as Dr. Williams examined TJ.

It was later in the evening. Fern and Vern—who slept nights at the apartment in Sam and TJ's room since Sam was never there—were sitting on the sofa. Heather and Dean sat near them in chairs that someone had brought in. They were all murmuring, keeping their voices low, waiting to see what Dr. Williams would say.

Finally, she turned to Sam, and the murmuring in the other room stopped.

"Looks like the babies pulled through okay, although they're a little tachycardic now. Their heart rates were too slow immediately following the seizure, but now they're too fast. That's to be expected. It's their way of compensating after the stress they were under."

Sam stiffened, feeling a jolt of anger. The stress _they_ were under? "What about TJ?" he ground out.

Dr. Williams blew her unruly blond bangs out of her face. "It's not good, Sam. Now that the seizures have begun, it's more likely she will keep having them, despite the magnesium sulfate we're giving her to prevent them. With each seizure, her chances of stroke or death increase. It's a vicious cycle. Each seizure sets the stage for the next one."

Sam's gaze traveled to TJ. She was so pale and still, so vulnerable. She was covered with the sheet and hospital blanket, arms resting by her sides, belly looking like she was hiding a basketball under the covers. The respiratory therapist had put a regular oxygen mask over TJ's nose and mouth, and Sam hated how it obscured her face.

"She was fine," he said flatly. "She wasn't upset or anything. We were all just talking. Her blood pressure wasn't any worse than usual."

"I'm sorry, Sam. Her pressure has always been very high. I'm surprised she hasn't had a seizure sooner."

He was quiet, unable to take his eyes off TJ, remembering the promise he made to her.

Dr. Williams' expression was grave. "My recommendation is to deliver the babies as quickly as possible."

Sam could feel the eyes of those in the other room boring into his back, and it was suddenly so quiet it felt like everyone was holding their breath. "And if we wait another week?"

"The babies have a better chance of survival, less chance of complications. TJ's condition, however...I don't know, Sam. There's a slim chance she might be able to go another week without having a seizure and we might be able to keep her stable with medication, but she doesn't have the best history of responding to the medications we've given her so far. If it were me, I wouldn't chance it."

"What are the twins' chances of survival if we deliver them now?"

Dr. Williams hesitated. "Less than seven percent."

It was all stuff he already knew. Hearing it now didn't make it any easier.

"If we're going to deliver, we should do it now, while she's stable. Her condition could change in a day, as you've seen for yourself. Plus, a cesarean section will put even more stress on her body. Delaying it could make things more dangerous, especially if she takes a turn for the worse."

A long moment passed before Sam spoke. "I—I need to be alone with her."

He saw Dr. Williams glance at the others behind him. "Sure," she said. "I'll be waiting in the hall for your decision." She made a move to leave but then turned to him again, placing a hand on his shoulder. "If it's any consolation, if the babies survive the delivery, they're in one of the best hospitals in the nation equipped to handle them. The NICU here is second to none."

He nodded. She was talking about the neonatal intensive care unit, and he knew she was right. He'd met the neonatologist and pediatrician that Dr. Williams recommended and knew they were on call in case TJ had to deliver. He'd researched their credentials as well as the hospital's and knew the babies would be in good hands. Despite all of that, the chances of the twins surviving were not good.

He heard the others behind him shuffling as if to leave, but he didn't turn around, couldn't look at them. He felt a rough hand squeeze the nape of his neck and knew it was Dean, but neither of them said anything. When they were all gone, Sam pushed himself closer to TJ's bed and took her hand. It was cold, and he rubbed it between both of his to warm it. "TJ?"

She didn't respond and he didn't really expect her to.

He stared at her for a long time, running through all the possible scenarios in his head. If he gave Dr. Williams the go-ahead, if Dr. Williams delivered the babies now and they didn't survive, would TJ ever forgive him for breaking his promise to her? Would she eventually understand someday that the thought of life without her was more than he could stand, that he'd selfishly chosen her over the twins for his own survival? Or would she end up hating him and be lost to him anyway?

And what if he kept his promise? What if he told Dr. Williams to wait and TJ had another seizure or a debilitating stroke? What if she was brain damaged, ended up with a disability like him? He knew what it was like. He knew it was possible to move on, to be happy, but he also knew how difficult it could be to live with. What if her disability wasn't something where she could live a relatively normal life? What if it was so incapacitating that she couldn't be independent and couldn't enjoy raising the babies she had fought so hard for? What if she couldn't talk? What if she wasn't _TJ_ anymore? The thought of her intelligent, sharp mind being damaged beyond repair was gut-wrenching.

It was impossible to choose. There was no satisfactory alternative. He was damned if he did and damned if he didn't.

He realized that he was squeezing TJ's hand too hard, so he loosened his grip and kissed her palm tenderly. Then he turned her hand over and pressed the back of it against his lips, inhaling the scent of her skin. He didn't want to let go of her. He was afraid to.

She suddenly flinched, and he looked up at her face. Her eyes were open.

"TJ?" His heartbeat picked up speed.

She blinked and then rolled and darted her eyes around, moaning softly.

"TJ, it's Sam. Can you hear me?"

Her eyes kept up their frenzied movement and her legs moved about restlessly. She squeezed his hand, but it didn't seem deliberate. It was more of a reflex, a random opening and closing of her hand.

He realized this was what Dr. Snow had been talking about when he'd said she might be agitated or semiconscious while in the coma, and his heart sank. She wasn't really waking up. "It's okay, TJ," he soothed anyway. "You're okay."

She breathed harshly, causing puffs of condensation inside the oxygen mask, and became more agitated.

"Hey, hey. Easy. I'm here."

She turned her head toward his voice. Her big brown eyes rested on him, glassy and unfocused, and he didn't think she was really seeing him. Then her eyes closed and she was quiet again, her other hand resting protectively on her stomach.

A guttural sound of anguish escaped him. His throat narrowed, cutting off his air, and hot moisture flowed down his face. He swallowed hard and forced his ragged voice to work. "I love you, TJ. I'm so sorry. Please forgive me."

There was no absolution from her, no forgiveness, nothing to help make his decision any easier—not that she would have given him those things if she'd been conscious.

He stared at her silent form and stayed with her until he could get control of his emotions. Then he gently lowered her hand to the mattress, wiped the moisture from his face with his sleeve, and wheeled himself out into the hallway.

Everyone was still there waiting and talking quietly. When they saw him, they were solemn, expressions grim and sympathetic.

Sam looked at Dr. Williams and finally forced out the words that threatened to rip him apart, hating himself for what this would do to TJ and hating himself for his betrayal.

"Deliver them."

**XXXXXXXX**

"I'm sorry, Sam," said Dr. Williams. The look on her face was pure sorrow and distress, all professional detachment gone.

They were sitting in the Labor and Delivery waiting room, Dr. Williams on one side of Sam and Dean on the other.

Sam's heart stopped and he felt like the blood in his head was rapidly draining away, along with the feeling in his hands. Dean stiffened. Heather, Fern, and Vern were sitting in the bank of chairs across from Sam, and Fern went deathly pale. Heather and Vern looked stunned.

"There were complications," said Dr. Williams. "I don't—I'm not sure exactly what happened. Everything seemed fine. We delivered the babies and were closing her up when her blood pressure went through the roof." She frowned, looking bewildered and anguished. "TJ suffered a massive intracerebral hemorrhage—a stroke."

The numbness in Sam's hands traveled up his arms, making them heavy. His voice was barely above a whisper. "Did she...is she..."

Dr. Williams' eyes widened and she raised her hands, palms outward, as she realized her mistake. "No, no. She's still alive. I'm sorry. I should have said that first."

A small sob came from Fern, and Heather rubbed her back in a comforting gesture while Vern sat frozen like a statue.

"Jesus," said Dean, wiping his hand over his mouth.

Dr. Williams looked abashed. "I'm so sorry," she repeated. "I didn't mean to imply—I should have—I'm sorry."

They were all silent for a minute, and then, finally, Sam spoke. "How—how bad is it?"

Dr. Williams shook her head. "I won't lie to you. We lost her twice on the table. She's critical, but we got her stabilized. She's been taken up for an MRI. We'll know more about the extent of the damage once we get the results."

_The damage._

The numbness in Sam's arms continued to spread through his entire body. It obliterated his pain, took away his ability to feel any emotion, and was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

"What about the twins?" asked Dean.

Dr. Williams appeared to have pulled herself together more. "They're alive. Dr. Ornice, the neonatologist, and Dr. Kimball, the developmental pediatrician, will both be in to talk with you once they have a chance." She put her hand over Sam's and squeezed. "It's a girl and a boy."

Again, no one said anything.

A daughter and a son. It should have been joyous news, but it meant nothing as far as Sam was concerned. Who knew if they would even be alive in the next minute?

Heather spoke up. "Where will TJ be taken after the MRI?"

"The ICU," answered Dr. Williams. "I've called in a neurologist for TJ, a Dr. Zachary. He's excellent, one of the best in his field."

Sam stared ahead of him, feeling nothing, feeling no obligation to respond. He wasn't human anymore. He was like a block of cement, an inanimate object.

"I'm sorry I can't tell you more right now," said Dr. Williams. "As soon as I know something, I'll pass it on to you. Once we get TJ settled in the ICU, you can see her." She looked at Sam like she expected some sort of acknowledgment.

"Okay," he said woodenly.

"You'll be able to see the babies soon, too."

He couldn't care less. He had no intention of ever laying eyes on them.

**XXXXXXXX**

Sam sat off by himself in a regular chair in the ICU waiting area along with Dean, Heather, Ralph and Gretchen. Fern and Vern were in with TJ. The hospital restricted TJ's visitors to two people an hour, mainly because there wasn't room for more in her cubicle-like room.

She was in a coma—a deep, scary, life-threatening coma. The results of the MRI had been disturbing; the trauma to her brain from the stroke was extensive. Her temporal lobe sustained most of the damage, and the neurologist was not optimistic. If TJ ever woke up—and that was a big _if_—there would most likely be severe brain damage affecting hearing, speech, memory, vision, and motor function. She would never be the same.

Sam should have been devastated by this, but it was like he was just an indifferent observer to his own surreal life. He knew he was being punished by TJ or God or Fate (maybe all three) for his betrayal—or maybe it was the old standby, the Winchester curse. He'd broken his promise to TJ in order to avoid a stroke, and she'd had one anyway just to spite him. Now he had lost her and most likely the twins, too. She'd been right. God did have an ironic sense of humor.

Sam's days consisted of either sitting by her bedside (staring but not touching) or in the ICU waiting room for hours on end. He didn't care if he got a pressure sore or a bladder infection or his muscles got stiff and spastic from sitting too long. He didn't care if his legs hurt. He didn't care about anything. He didn't care if he died.

The fact that he didn't care, however, didn't mean he was so far gone that he had totally let himself go. He got tired of hearing Dean bitch at him like a broken record, so he still went through the motions of everything he was supposed to do for his SCI. He even walked around with his braces some, but he wasn't sure what the point was. He ate when they told him to and went home to sleep when they told him to. Or, at least, he pretended to sleep. Maybe he did actually sleep some. He didn't really know. He seemed to be functioning, anyway, and didn't feel tired.

He had gone home last night, "slept," and grabbed his laptop on his way out the door this morning, bringing it with him to the hospital. He realized he should have done it a lot sooner. He was researching a case for Parker online and didn't have to be bothered with small talk from the people around him. He looked occupied, busy, like he had a purpose, so they left him alone.

The others spoke in a quiet tone, although there were only a few other people in the waiting area. TJ's family and friends were by far the majority.

Ralph's presence didn't even bother Sam. He hardly gave the guy a second thought. In fact, Sam might have even been remorseful for keeping Ralph and TJ from going on that first date so long ago if he could feel any emotions. After all, if he hadn't interfered, maybe TJ would be married to Ralph right now instead of him. One thing was for sure, she wouldn't be lying in an ICU on life support.

Oh, well. Hindsight's twenty/twenty.

A young woman with short black hair wearing a white blouse and gray slacks entered the waiting area. "Is there a Sam Winchester in here?"

He ignored her and kept his nose buried in his computer, hoping that if he didn't acknowledge her, she might go away. That was childish, though, and one of the others pointed him out to her, blowing his cover.

"Mr. Winchester?"

He tightened his mouth, annoyed, and looked up at her. "Yes?"

"I'm Kelli Dameron from the Office of Vital Records and Statistics."

He just looked at her.

She gave him an uneasy smile. "I know you've been contacted about this before, but we really need the forms you were given to fill out on your twins. By law, the forms have to be turned in and filed within ten days of the babies' birth. This is the tenth day—they were New Year's Day babies, you know." She laughed nervously. "So, the forms are due today."

"Why?" asked Sam.

She looked uncertain. "Excuse me?"

"Why do I have to fill out the forms? The twins are gonna die any minute."

Her face paled.

Dean, who was sitting nearby, glared at him. "Sam..." he growled in warning.

"Well, um, they—they need names," the woman stammered.

"Why, if they're gonna die? You mean, like, for a tombstone or something?"

The woman looked around helplessly, clearly at a loss for words. Everyone's expression was either one of shock or sorrow or a mixture of both.

Dean's features were tight. "I'll make sure he fills them out," he said to the girl.

"Sure. We close at five." She didn't wait for any acknowledgment and left in a hurry.

Dean moved to the seat next to Sam. Sam ignored him and went back to his laptop, but Dean pushed the screen down, slamming it shut.

Sam probably should have been irritated, but he felt nothing.

"Look," Dean began, "I get it. You're grieving and upset—"

"No, I'm not."

"—and things are all upside down right now, but you haven't even been to look at them, Sam."

He shrugged. "Why should I?"

"Because they're your flesh and blood. Because they need you. Because TJ would want you to be there for them."

"Yeah," Sam agreed affably. "You're probably right about that." Still, he had no intention of ever having anything to do with the twins.

Dean looked at him like he'd said something offensive. "You are like a fuckin' robot, Sam. Aren't you at least curious about them?"

Heather, Gretchen, and Ralph were listening, all waiting for Sam's answer.

Sam thought about it for a moment, then pressed his lips together, the corners of his mouth curving downward. "Nope."

Dean looked him in the eye and spoke deliberately. "They're innocent babies, Sam, and they're amazing. They're fighters. They've already beat the odds by surviving this long."

"Oh?" said Sam, raising his brows. He tried to appear impressed because Dean seemed to need that from him. He patted Dean on the knee. "Good for them."

Dean rubbed his fingers over his mouth, chin quivering almost imperceptibly. When he spoke, his voice was gruff and a little broken. "You have to name them, Sammy."

Sam saw movement in his peripheral vision and looked up to see that Fern and Vern were now in the waiting area. They were eyeing him warily, Fern's hand resting on her mouth to cover _her_ quivering chin.

Sam wondered why she was upset and frowned. "Did something change with TJ? Is she worse?"

Fern walked over to him and hugged him, then sat in the chair on the other side of him. "No, hon. She's the same." She was looking at him with sorrow.

He hated it when she looked at him that way. He must have said or done something inappropriate again. Maybe he should be acting sadder or something. He made his tone more solemn. "It's my turn. I'll go sit with her."

His wheelchair was sitting in front of him, kind of catty-corner to him, and he grabbed the frame of it.

Dean grabbed his arm, stopping him. "Not until you fill out the paperwork. Not until you give those babies names."

Sam stared at him a moment and then thought of a solution to the problem. He turned his chair around and dug in his backpack until he found the papers that he'd stuffed in it a few days ago when the other lady from the statistics office had given them to him. He handed them unceremoniously to Dean. "Here. You fill them out."

Dean scowled in disbelief. "What?"

Sam put his laptop in the backpack and turned his chair around so it faced him at an angle, then swiftly transferred into it, not bothering to lock the brakes on it. He hardly ever locked them anymore unless he was doing a more difficult transfer.

"You name them, Dean," he said, pushing down with his palms on the cushion to adjust himself on the seat. Then he lifted his knees with his hands to maneuver his feet onto the footplate. He noted absently that his legs felt like they were on fire, like they were being stabbed with flaming pins and needles. Funny how he hadn't even noticed the familiar pain until now. Being indifferent to everything definitely had its advantages.

"Sammy, I can't name them," Dean protested, still scowling. "Didn't you and TJ talk about names? What would she want to name them?"

Sam shook his head. "We never really came up with anything. You name them, Dean. I'm sure she won't care. It's not like she's gonna care about much of anything anymore, right?"

Fern gasped and then a tear rolled down her cheek. Vern looked away abruptly, muttering something that sounded like, "God Almighty."

Jeez. They were all so dramatic these days. "So, is anyone coming with me to see TJ? Two are allowed."

No one said anything. They all just stared at him looking shocked, like he'd lost his marbles. They were wrong, though. He felt surprisingly fine. But then he got it. They were in pairs—Gretchen and Ralph, Vern and Fern, Heather and Dean. He couldn't blame them for not wanting to come with him, for not wanting to break up the couples.

What was he thinking? He was a solo act now. His family was, for all intents and purposes, gone. He spun his chair around and left, not giving it another thought.

**XXXXXXXX**

Things went by in a sort of monotonous blur. Sam did his duty, putting in his hours by TJ's bedside, watching the hypnotic rise and fall of her chest and hearing the hiss and click of the ventilator. It was hooked to a hole the doctor had made in the lower front part of her neck—a tracheostomy—because she needed help breathing indefinitely and there were too many complications that could occur if they kept a tube in her mouth.

There was no essence of her left. Her soul was gone. It was just her body that was left—her pale, thin body pathetically clinging to life without its brain. That's what Sam told himself because deep down, somewhere inside of him where whatever was left of _his_ soul might still reside, he couldn't stand the thought of her being trapped in there, of the real TJ unable to escape her own body, possibly stuck in there forever. He'd asked about taking her off the life support, but the neurologist said there was still brain activity.

Wasn't that just awesome? She wasn't alive enough to live but not dead enough to die.

Her body had rebounded from the pregnancy, if not her brain. Her blood pressure returned to normal a few weeks after the delivery, and she regained her kidney function and was taken off of dialysis.

Her doctors removed the nasogastric feeding tube and surgically inserted one into her stomach instead, saying it would be better for the long-term. She was moved to another part of the hospital after four weeks in the ICU because she was stable and required ongoing, chronic care.

The babies kept holding on. At three weeks old, they underwent heart surgery to close up some kind of hole in their hearts that apparently a lot of extremely early "micropreemies" had. Sam thought that would be it for sure, that they would finally die and Dean would stop nagging him to go see them, but they didn't—damn them. Jesus, the way Dean went on about them, the way he'd been so upset and distraught about the surgery, it was like he was their father instead of Sam.

Sam didn't know what Dean named them. Whenever Dean had tried to tell him, it was the one time that Sam's affable indifference was replaced by an explosion of rage. After that, everyone had given him a wide berth and never mentioned the babies around him, which was fine with him.

Naming them would make it personal, might make Sam care, might make him see them as little humans instead of thinking of them as expendable. He couldn't let that happen. He needed to keep his emotions under lock and key. Besides, it was probably safer for the twins if he didn't give a damn about them. Look what happened every time Sam loved someone—or when they loved him. Look at what had happened to his mother. He'd never even known her, and she'd still died because of him.

He knew everyone thought he'd gone off the deep end, and maybe they were right. But if this was what being crazy was like, he much preferred it to the anguish, sorrow, and despair that everyone around him appeared to be feeling. Who needed that?

He wheeled himself down the hallway toward TJ's room, hoping that no one would be there. He didn't visit TJ as much lately because he was immersed in his work, and when he did visit, he brought his laptop to keep from getting bored. For some reason, everyone acted like there was something wrong with that, and he didn't want to see the disapproving looks that were inevitable if Dean, Heather, or any of TJ's friends were there—or the permanent expression of sadness that seemed to be etched on Ferna Sue's face these days.

It would most likely be Fern there, since she didn't have a life to go back to like everyone else. He wondered if Ferna Sue would ever go back home. It was the middle of March and she'd been in San Diego since before Christmas. Did the woman have an endless supply of sick leave from the school district where she taught? At least he didn't have Vern to contend with. Vern had been forced to go back to their farm in Kentucky.

As Sam approached the room, he heard Fern's voice and the lower rumble of a man's voice. Maybe she was talking to someone visiting the other coma patient in the room. No more VIP rooms for TJ. Not even Heather's parents were willing to fork out the dough for that indefinitely.

When he got closer, he realized he recognized the man's voice. He pushed the already open door to the room open wider so he could roll through.

His eyes immediately went to TJ, and he hated himself for that split second of instinct, for that residual part of him that still had ghost memories of his love for her, that part of him that needed her like he needed air. He shoved it away, determined to overcome it, and calmed as the numbness he lived with day after day once again took over.

TJ was uncovered, except for the loose hospital gown she wore. She wasn't allowed to wear pajamas anymore because there were too many tubes and catheters sticking out of her and the nurses needed easier access to everything.

Fern was doing range-of-motion exercises on TJ's bare leg, lifting it and bending it at the knee and then lowering it, over and over, like the physical therapist had shown them to do. Sam thought it was a waste of time, but he had the sense not to say it out loud. He'd learned his lesson the first time.

Bobby was standing with his back to Sam. "Hey, Bobby," said Sam with a smile.

Bobby turned to face him. "Sam?" He scrutinized Sam for a moment, then walked over and have him a hearty, gruff hug, slapping him on the back. "How you holding up, kid?"

"Me?" Sam shrugged. "I'm fine. The whole freelance paralegal thing is working out great. Been doing a lot of work, building up a clientele. I can do most of the work from home."

"That wasn't what I meant."

Sam wondered what he did mean, but decided it wasn't important. People talked in riddles these days. "What are you doing here, Bobby? Not that it's not good to see you."

Fern was watching their exchange, looking at Sam with wariness. She stopped working TJ's leg and set it gently down on the mattress.

"I wanted to come see how you were doing," said Bobby, "and come visit TJ."

Sam snorted. "Well, if you came to see TJ, I think you drove a long way for nothing. She's pretty much already checked out. Her body just didn't get the memo."

Fern put a hand over her mouth and tears welled in her eyes.

Christ, it was getting annoying when she did that. And judging by the look on Bobby's face, Sam figured he must have said something inappropriate again.

Bobby narrowed his eyes. "When's the last time you slept, Sam? Or shaved, for that matter?"

Sam felt his jaw. Huh. There was a pretty thick beard there. Weird. He wasn't sure how that had happened. "I sleep every night, Bobby."

Bobby didn't look very convinced. It was the truth, though. Sam slept. Didn't he? He must sleep some, else he'd be dead. Sleep was important for good health. Maybe he should start keeping track.

Bobby shared a look with Fern that looked like an apology and then turned his attention back to Sam. "Sam, I think I need some fresh air. Would you mind taking a walk with me?"

"Sure." Sam glanced at TJ and huffed a scornful laugh. "It's not like she's going anywhere, right?"

A tear rolled down Fern's cheek and she wiped it away. Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes. What was she crying about now? Women. They were always so melodramatic.

"There's a little atrium area not far from here," said Sam when he and Bobby were in the hallway.

Bobby gave a short nod. "Lead the way."

As they walked, Sam asked, "So, when did you get here, Bobby? I can't believe nobody told me you were coming."

"Maybe they did. Maybe you just didn't hear them."

Sam thought that was a strange thing to say, but he didn't comment.

"I got here last night."

Sam frowned. "Where are you staying?"

"A motel not far from the hospital."

"Oh. Sorry you can't stay with us. We've got a full house—_mother-in-law_," Sam added. "She's been sleeping in Dean's room. Dean sleeps on the pullout sofa or at Heather's."

"Fern's a good woman."

"Hey, I'm not complaining. She's really not there that much, just at night. She spends most of the day with TJ. I guess she's gonna rot away in that hospital room right along with TJ."

They were almost in front of the double doors to the glassed in atrium. Bobby stopped walking abruptly. "You don't seem too broken up about it," he said.

Sam worked his tires back and forth. "Broken up about what? That TJ's basically a living corpse? I'm not, but I guess maybe I'm more self-actualized than everyone else. I mean, that's just life, right? Shit happens."

Bobby just stared at him.

"The whole coma thing's getting tedious, I have to admit. It gets old, coming up here every day. We'd all be better off if TJ went ahead and kicked the bucket, you know? All she's doing now is running up a huge, astronomical hospital bill and wasting everyone's time."

It looked like Bobby had moisture building in his eyes as he continued to look at Sam for a long moment. Sam almost groaned. _Not Bobby, too. _

Bobby's attention shifted and Sam followed his gaze to see Dean walking toward them, a hard, grim expression on his features. He was still dressed in his Firestone uniform and must have come straight to the hospital after he'd gotten off work.

"Here comes Mr. Congeniality," said Sam. He could tell by Dean's demeanor that he was in for another lecture.

"Bobby?" said Dean in a gruff greeting.

Bobby nodded.

Dean aimed his hard expression at Sam. "I just came from TJ's room. I just talked to Fern."

Sam was unsure why that was significant and waited for Dean to continue. "And?"

Dean looked like he wanted to say something but shook his head in exasperation instead. He yanked open the door to the atrium and went inside. It was virtually empty except for a couple sitting on a bench. He said something to the couple and they got up and left, giving Sam a curious look as they walked out the doors.

Dean signaled to Bobby and Sam to come in. Sam pulled on one of the doors with his hand, then pushed it open with a shove and wheeled through before it could shut.

The atrium was a small outside area with various flowers and plants and a large palm tree that grew up in the middle of it. The area was a little humid and kind of had a tropical feel.

Bobby and Dean both sat down on the bench the couple had vacated and were eye level with Sam. Sam didn't like the looks on their faces and started to feel uneasy, like a kid who'd been sent to the principal's office.

Bobby spoke first, his expression grave and earnest. "Sam, I'm sorry about TJ."

Sam felt nothing at Bobby's words but knew that Bobby and Dean expected him to say something meaningful, so he said what was required. "Yeah. Pretty tragic, right?"

Dean ran a hand over his face in a frustrated motion, his jaw hard.

"Ferna Sue says there's still hope," said Bobby, "that TJ's not brain dead."

Sam felt a prickle of some buried emotion knocking on the door to his conscience, some emotion he didn't want to feel. "Ferna Sue is delusional, Bobby. If TJ ever wakes up—_if—_she'll never be the same. The damage from the stroke was extensive. She'd be better off dead."

"You don't know that, Sam. She's a fighter," argued Dean.

Sam rolled his eyes. He felt like he was in a bad Lifetime movie.

Bobby kept his cool. "There's lots that the doctors still don't know about the brain, Sam. Ferna Sue said no one really knows what the damage will be until TJ wakes up."

Sam looked at Dean. "What is this, an intervention? Is that why Bobby's here? Did you tell him I'm crazy or something?"

"Well, you don't seem like yourself, son," Bobby said diplomatically.

Dean didn't say anything, just stared.

Sam resisted the urge to clench his jaw. He would not lose control. He felt nothing and he would keep it that way. "Well, let me put your mind at ease, Bobby. You drove all that way for nothing. I'm fine. In fact, I'm better than I've ever been. I'm trying to move on with my life. TJ is gone, and there's nothing any of us can do about it. It's everyone else that seems to be stuck somewhere between life and death, just like TJ_. They_ are the ones that need to see a shrink to deal with their grief, not me." He glared at Dean. "Just fucking get over it."

Dean scowled and turned red. "You haven't even been to see your own kids, Sam. Not even once!"

The emotion that Sam was trying to keep locked away kept pressing at its bonds, threatening to snap. "I told you not to talk about them in front of me."

"Yeah," said Dean, tone laced with sarcasm. "Nothing nuts about that—pretending your own son and daughter don't exist."

Sam gripped his wheels, getting ready to swivel his chair around and leave. "I don't have to listen to this."

Dean grabbed the frame of Sam's chair, stopping him, eyes burning into him. "You _do_ have to listen to this. Your eleven-week-old _son_ is having surgery on his eyes tomorrow because his retinas aren't developing right. The surgeon is gonna try to save your son's sight. Do you hear me? His _sight._"

Sam began to shake. His armor was starting to crack, and he ruthlessly pushed back the tide of despair and anguish that threatened to consume him. "Let...go," he said through clenched teeth.

Dean's features softened a fraction. "Your boy needs you, Sammy. You need to go see him. They both need you. TJ would want you to be there for them."

"I said...let...go."

Dean shook his head. "No. If you won't go willingly, I'll take you there myself."

Sam snorted. "Right." He gave his wheels a vicious pull and jerked the frame of his chair from Dean's hand, then turned and headed for the doors.

"I mean it, Sammy." Dean's voice was coarse and menacing.

Sam ignored him. As he reached for the handle on the door, he felt someone take hold of the push handles of his chair. He looked over his shoulder to see Dean. "What the fuck are you doing, Dean?"

In the next instant, Bobby was there holding the door open.

"I'm taking you to see your kids," Dean retorted.

Sam exhaled harshly through his nose, mouth tight, and fought to stay calm. Dean had obviously lost _his_ marbles. "Let's be rational about this. You can't force me to go to the NICU."

"Watch me," Dean growled, and he started pushing Sam's chair.

Sam gripped his wheels with all the strength he had, making it impossible for Dean to make the chair budge. The tread of the tires chafed Sam's palms painfully, but he didn't care.

"A little help here, Bobby!" barked Dean.

Bobby's expression was grim, and Sam realized he was completely on Dean's side. Sam would get no help from him.

"Pick up his legs," said Dean.

"Don't even think about it, Bobby," warned Sam.

Bobby bent down and picked up Sam's legs, still holding the door open with his hip.

Dean grabbed Sam under his armpits in a vise-like grip, and then Dean and Bobby moved in tandem, picking Sam up out of his chair.

Sam was flooded with a sudden and savage rage. He pulled at Dean's arms, but Dean just tightened his hold, his arms like steel bands across Sam's ribs, making it hard for Sam to draw in a deep breath.

"Don't you fucking do this!" Sam yelled. "Don't you do it!"

Dean and Bobby ignored him, and it fueled Sam's fury even more until it was a hot, tangible thing. They started walking, and Sam fought with everything he had, heaving and scratching at Dean's arms and wishing with all his might he could kick. He cursed his useless legs and cursed Dean and Bobby for taking advantage of his paralysis, for making him feel weak and helpless.

"I'll never forgive you for this, you fucking bastards!" he spat. They were in the main corridor now, and people were stopping to watch as Bobby and Dean carried Sam past.

He could hear Dean using that sheepish charm that had gotten them both out of many scrapes. "Sorry folks. Just a psych patient that escaped from his ward. Sorry for the disturbance."

"Don't listen to him!" Sam pleaded. "Help me! Somebody help me!" He managed to get a hold of Dean's ear and pulled on it with all his might.

Dean faltered, almost dropping him. "Ow! Dammit, Sam, let go!"

"Fuck you!" Sam pulled harder, getting a perverse satisfaction out of Dean's pained grunt.

"Son of a bitch. Bobby!" implored Dean.

Bobby set Sam's legs on the floor while Dean set Sam's upper body down enough so he'd have his hands free to extricate his ear.

"Let go, Sammy." Dean sounded cautious, like he was talking to a wounded animal. He put his hands on Sam's arm, but Sam pulled on his ear and Dean let go.

Sam was panting, almost choking on bitter anger. "Get me back in my chair, or I'll rip your fucking ear off."

"Jesus, Bobby. He's clamped down on it like a friggin' limpet."

Bobby focused on Sam and spoke patiently, like he was talking to an eight-year-old. "Let go of your brother's ear, son."

Sam looked around. They had drawn a crowd of nurses, patients, and doctors, and he saw Dr. Williams among the people staring down at them. She still came and checked on TJ every once in a while, even though TJ didn't need an OB anymore. Sam used his best wounded-puppy look on her. "Dr. Williams, please, call security. Help me. _Please_."

She folded her arms and glanced at Dean. "You taking him to the NICU?"

"Yeah," Dean answered.

She gave a curt nod. "Carry on—literally."

Sam leaned his head back in frustration, bumping it against Dean's chest, which only served to piss him off more.

Dean looked down at him, expression determined. "You're not gonna win this, Sammy."

"Go to hell."

Bobby's voice was lethally calm. "Let go of him, Sam, or I'll _make_ you let go."

"I'll tear his ear off before you even get the chance," Sam threatened.

Bobby seemed unperturbed. "You think?"

Sam yanked brutally on Dean's ear again, causing Dean to cry out in pain. "I don't think. I _know_," Sam stated darkly.

In the next instant, Sam felt a sharp, stunning blow to his jaw that made him see stars—and he let go of Dean's ear.

_**TBC**_


	12. Chapter 12

**_A/N: Thank you Catsluver and skzb for taking time out of your day to help me out. You are awesome._  
**

**_Thanks to those of you who reviewed as guests. I'm so glad you guys are still with me. :)  
_**

**Chapter 12**

Sam heard the sound of someone gasping in shock, maybe more than one person, but he couldn't comprehend what was going on because he was blinded by pain. Dark spots flashed before his eyes, and he could hear voices but couldn't make out what they were saying. Before he knew it, he had been lifted and felt himself being carried again. The rocking motion was pleasant and kind of made him feel like taking a nap.

He wasn't sure how much time passed before he became aware again, but he found himself sitting in one of two large chairs that were similar to a sleeping chair. Bobby and Dean were both hovering over him, eyeing him warily, like they were ready to pounce if he tried anything.

He looked around, dazed. He worked his jaw—which hurt like a bitch—and saw that he was sitting in between two incubators, one labeled "S. Winchester" and one labeled "R. Winchester." The one with the S had a small pink bunny on top of it, and the one with the R had a small blue teddy bear.

Anger snapped Sam out of his stupor. He was in the NICU. "Get me the hell out of here. _Now_."

Dean's tone was matter-of-fact. "Nope. Sorry, Sammy. You're about to meet your son and daughter. They're in the middle of their baths, but they'll be ready soon."

Bobby continued to look at Sam with a watchful eye, but there was a hint of guilt in his gaze. Sam realized what had happened, that Bobby had socked him in the jaw.

In that moment, Sam hated both of them—Dean, the brother he would have gladly died for, and Bobby, the man who was like a father to him—with a loathing that consumed him and made him burn with rage.

They had taken cruel advantage of his disability and humiliated him, and now they were forcing him to do something that threatened to rip him apart. His breathing was harsh with overpowering emotion, and he skewered them both with a look of hatred. "I'll never forgive you for this. Either of you."

Dean's jaw was hard. "We'll see."

Sam throbbed with rage. "I fucking _hate_ you. Do you hear me?" He glared at Bobby. "You, too."

"Watch your mouth, Sam." Dean's voice was calm, but there was repressed anger just under the surface. "The babies in here can sense negative energy. It stresses them out."

Dean's statement took Sam off guard for a second because it was so out of character, so...emo. And then Sam saw with sudden clarity a way out of this, a way to avoid having to see the twins. "You fucking bastards," he said loudly, almost shouting. "I hope you both go to hell!"

Dean clamped a hand over Sam's mouth and growled with menace. "Nice try, but it won't work."

Sam bit Dean's hand. It was more difficult than it would seem, but Sam managed to get his teeth on the skin of Dean's palm and chomped down on it savagely, tasting the metallic flavor of blood.

Dean jerked his hand away. "Son of a bitch!"

Sam leered cynically. "Watch that negative energy, Dean. Don't want to disturb the babies."

Dean grabbed him from behind in a choke hold, a millimeter away from crushing Sam's windpipe. Sam could barely breathe.

At the same time, a startled nurse approached holding what looked like a tiny doll swaddled in a white hospital baby blanket with a blue-and-pink stripe bordering it. There was a tiny blue knit cap on the doll's head, and there were wires and tubes sticking out from the blanket that were hooked up to a portable oxygen tank and some sort of monitor on wheels. "Oh!" exclaimed the nurse. She was a pudgy, motherly looking lady. "What's going on here?"

Dean released a small amount of pressure from Sam's throat. "Ginnie, this is my brother Sam that I've been telling you about. Sam, this is Ginnie." Dean spoke like he was introducing them at a cocktail party.

"Fuck you," Sam threw out, not caring if he offended Ginnie or anyone else.

Dean viciously tightened his hold around Sam's neck, this time cutting off all of Sam's air. Sam knew in the logical part of his mind that Dean would never kill him, but his animal instincts were kicking into gear. His heart hammered and he pulled with all of his might on Dean's arm, trying to get it to loosen, fighting panic. His lungs started to burn.

Dean held him with ruthless strength, and his voice vibrated in Sam's ear. "You gonna play nice, Sammy?"

Sam was seconds away from passing out and no longer cared about anything but getting air back into his lungs. He nodded as much as he could, considering his neck was in a vise.

Dean let go, and Sam heaved in gulps of air, rubbing his Adam's apple with his hand.

"Sorry about that, Ginnie," Dean said. "Sam's a little reluctant."

Ginnie quirked her mouth. "So I see. Has he sanitized?"

"Uh-uh." Dean was already reaching for a bottle of hand sanitizer sitting on a nearby counter. He squirted some into Sam's hand, and Sam stared dumbly at the gel-like substance.

"Rub it in," Dean commanded, his voice full of warning.

Still panting from Dean's rough treatment of him, Sam shot Dean a murderous look but complied, rubbing his hands together until the sanitizer evaporated.

To Sam's surprise, Ginnie didn't seem all that afraid of him, all things considered. She eyed him with a calculating look. "Are you ready to hold your son, Mr. Winchester?"

Sam clenched his teeth. He could feel both Dean's and Bobby's eyes boring into him, but he refused to look at them. He delayed for as long as he could before finally grinding out, "Yes."

Ginnie didn't waste any time. In the next instant, Sam found himself holding the ruddy-complected doll. The bundle appeared even smaller nestled in the crook of his elbow, and he easily held it in one arm. The doll's eyes were closed and it looked sweetly serene, like...an angel. The only thing that spoiled the illusion was the mini nasal cannula for oxygen that was in its nose.

The doll was surprisingly warm and light as a feather. Despite himself, Sam was fascinated by the tiny, perfectly-formed fingers of the doll's hand that was peeking out from the blanket near its face. He was startled when the fingers moved, flexing and closing in a sporadic, sleepy manner. The fingers even had microscopic-sized fingernails.

Sam was frozen, unable to move, afraid to disturb such an embodiment of peace. His anger began to slowly ebb and was replaced by a terrible exhaustion unlike any he'd ever known. He had no idea how many minutes ticked by as he stared at the baby boy, but the spell was broken when the little sleeping face suddenly screwed up into a moue of discontent and let out a series of miniature grunts. Then, a second later, a not-so-small explosion came from the baby's nether region.

"Uh-oh," said Ginnie good-naturedly.

"Awesome," quipped Dean. He was standing and holding a similar bundle to the one Sam was holding, only the knit cap was pink instead of blue. He held the little bundle like a pro, and it was weird to see him doing something so domestic. Then again, he started practicing when he was four.

Sam hadn't even realized the other baby had been brought to them. Dean was smiling at the tiny baby girl, and the expression on Dean's face was one of pure and unconditional love. It was so foreign to see such a look on his brother's face that Sam blinked a couple of times to make sure he wasn't seeing things.

Bobby's attention seemed to be going back and forth, his expression softening when he looked at Dean and becoming cautious when he looked at Sam. The hatred Sam had felt toward him moments ago had dissipated, and Sam felt numb again.

"Here," said Ginnie, reaching for the baby in Sam's arms.

Sam watched woodenly as she took the boy from him.

"I'll change his diaper while you hold his sister."

Sam watched the nurse like a zombie, incapable of speech, as she took the baby to one of the incubators, opened the lid, and began to unswaddle the baby to change its diaper. It let out a cry of protest that sounded surprisingly strong.

Dean gave Sam a wary look as if assessing whether it was safe to hand over his precious cargo. The fight had gone out of Sam, and he rested his head against the high, padded back of the chair and closed his eyes, not caring whether Dean trusted him or not. His jaw was hurting and the exhaustion he'd felt earlier wasn't letting up. He hadn't felt this tired since before TJ went into the coma.

"Sam?"

Sam opened his eyes to see Dean bending down slightly, carefully offering him the other swaddled baby. Sam reluctantly took it, holding it the same way he held the other one. It had a tiny nasal cannula in its nose, too, but it was bright-eyed and wide awake, unlike the first one. Two large, dark eyes stared back at him—eyes that were too large for its small face.

TJ's eyes.

He was at first shocked, and then he felt like he was being strangled again—this time, with shame. What had he done? He'd abandoned his own children, _TJ's _children, the babies that TJ was willing to risk her life for. How could he have been so cold? How could he have betrayed TJ even more than he already had by ignoring them? God, he'd been such a dick—to Fern, to Dean, to everyone. He _had_ lost his mind.

Things had gotten so twisted. He blamed the babies along with himself for TJ's condition, thought of the twins as less than human, tainted with his blood, as something evil. Now, seeing them, holding them—he _knew_ they were innocent. He could feel it at the very core of his being. They were nothing other than precious little gifts, little miracles from Heaven.

The baby—his _daughter—_was still staring at him. He knew she probably couldn't see him that well, if at all. Babies, even full-term ones, couldn't see faces until three months after they were born, but it seemed like she was looking at him, like he was just as alien to her as she was to him. She was fascinated with him.

She was surprisingly noisy. She made funny little high-pitched grunts that reminded him of puppies and kittens and other newborn animals. Both of her hands had wiggled free a bit from the swaddle, and he put his pinky up to one of them. She wrapped her tiny fingers around it, stronger than he would have thought, and he knew in that moment that he was the one that would be wrapped around _her_ finger for the rest of his days.

He nuzzled his face close to her and kissed the knit cap on the top of her head. She smelled so good, so sweet and fresh and clean, but there was something more, something primal that made him feel fiercely protective of her and made his heart swell.

He thought of TJ, how much she had loved these little beings even before she'd met them and how much she would have loved them now, how unfair it was that she would probably never get the chance. The realization hit Sam with a force that took his breath away. His throat clogged and burned with all the emotions that he'd been immune to for the past two and a half months—horror, despair, desolation, guilt. It was as he'd feared. His soul was ripping apart.

He began to sob—silent heaves that racked his body and left him defenseless against the barrage of pain assaulting him. He was blinded, could no longer see the baby in his arms. He felt someone take her from him, and it made him feel cold. He wanted her back, but he couldn't speak to protest. He could barely get air past his narrowed throat.

He felt someone squeeze his shoulder and then he heard Bobby say quietly, "I'll go get his chair."

Ginnie cleared her throat. "They're all settled. I'll, uh...well, I'll be back to check on them later."

If Dean replied, Sam didn't hear it. Time was fluid and he wasn't sure how long he sat there until, finally, he felt a hand squeeze the back of his neck. It was strong and comforting at the same time.

"Sammy?"

Sam gulped in a breath of air, trying to get control of himself. Dean was sitting in the chair next to him on the edge of it, reaching across, hand still on Sam's neck. Sam quickly looked away and wiped the moisture from his face with his hand, embarrassed.

Dean was quiet.

Sam couldn't look at him. He sniffed and then wiped snot on his shirt sleeve. After another minute, he felt uncomfortable, like he should speak. "I, uh..." His voice came out ragged, and he fought against another torrent of pain, forcing himself to look Dean in the eye. "I'm sorry."

Dean squeezed Sam's neck. "I know, man. Me, too."

He got the feeling Dean was apologizing for the whole situation, for TJ, for everything.

"You almost choked me to death," Sam accused without heat.

Dean arched a brow and let go of Sam's neck. "Now, _that_, you deserved."

Sam looked down at his hands and nodded. "Yeah, I did." He gave Dean a sidelong glance. "But if you and Bobby ever take me out of my chair like that again, I _will _kill you."

Dean snorted. "Get in line."

Sam almost smiled. He felt like he could breathe again for the first time in months, despite the grief that had been unleashed inside him.

"So, check this out." Dean pulled out his cell phone and brought up pictures of the twins. In one of the pictures, a wedding ring was on one of the babies' spindly little arms, all the way up to its shoulder, and the ring was still loose. The baby was all wrinkled and its skin was translucent, the veins showing through. The baby was hooked up to an unbelievable amount of tubes and wires, its face almost completely obscured by the breathing tube taped to its mouth. "This is your daughter the day after she was born," said Dean. "She weighed one pound, three ounces and was about eleven and a half inches long."

He flipped to the next picture. It could have been the same baby, except there was a man's hand next to the baby to give a reference point for comparison. The baby was barely bigger than the hand. "That's your son, and that's my hand next to him," Dean said, a note of amazed disbelief in his tone. "He weighed one pound, six ounces, and was eleven and three-fourths inches long."

"They were so—God, Dean. They were so thin, so fragile."

"Yeah. They look a lot different now, more like babies instead of spider monkey embryos. They're getting some baby fat now, starting to fill out." He beamed. "They're getting butt cracks."

Sam frowned and gave him a look that said, _What the hell?_

"They had serious raisin butts for a while, but now they're getting some padding."

Sam swallowed. "I've missed so much."

Dean was suddenly intense. "You've got the rest of their lives to make it up to them, starting now."

Sam gave a nod and hung his head. A minute passed, and then he spoke. "So, thanks, you know, for taking care of them."

Dean's face lit up. "Dude, I was born to be an uncle. They love their awesome Uncle Dean. Of course, they like Heather, Fern, and Vern, too. We've all been doing this thing the nurses call kangaroo care, where the babies are naked except for their diapers, and we put them up next to our bare chests so they can have skin-on-skin contact. It's unbelievable how the babies respond to it. They love it. It makes them less stressed and eases their breathing, for one thing. The ladies, Fern and Heather, put them on top of their breasts—covered with a blanket, of course." Dean shrugged his brows and looked toward the baby boy's incubator. "The little man really digs that."

Sam smiled. "Just like his uncle."

"And, dude," Dean went on, really warming up to the subject, "those babies are completely confounding the whole staff here. They're eleven weeks, which is the same as thirty-four weeks gestation. The nurses still think of them as fetuses. Anyway, they've both got lungs on them that put Pavarotti to shame. The docs think part of it's due to the fact that TJ was on the corticosteroid. It helped their lungs develop faster.

"The babies are still on oxygen for right now, but the neonatologist and the pediatrician both think they won't even have to go home on it. I mean, that's almost unheard of for micropreemies. Some of them have to be on oxygen for, like, a year after they're born."

Sam was relieved to hear that but then frowned, remembering that Dean had mentioned something about eye surgery. "What's wrong with—wait. What did you name them?"

"Guess."

"Dean, just tell me."

Dean looked proud of himself. "Robert Vernon—after Bobby and Vern, obviously—and..." he paused and grinned, "...Samantha Joy."

Sam rolled his eyes and groaned.

"Everyone calls them Robby and Sami Joy for short."

Sam leaned forward, resting his head in his hands.

"So, what do you think? Fern and Heather kind of helped me."

"I think TJ would—" Sam stopped suddenly, feeling a sharp pang of sadness. "I think she would have killed you for the 'Joy' part."

Dean chuckled, unrepentant.

"And _I'm_ gonna kill you for the 'Samantha' part."

Dean clapped him on the shoulder. "You'll get over it. Look at the bright side. There's a new Sammy in town. The nickname has finally been passed on."

"Right," Sam said dryly. He wasn't sure he wanted his daughter stuck with it either. "So what about the eye surgery for...Robby." The name was foreign on Sam's tongue and, even though it was less formal than Robert, still seemed too much for the tiny baby he'd held in his arms.

Dean grew serious. "He has ROP—retinopothy of prematurity. It means he has an abnormal growth of blood vessels around his retinas. The vessels are growing too fast and pulling on the retinas."

Sam swallowed. "Does it mean—does it mean he could be blind?"

Dean gave a short nod. "If they don't do the surgery, yes. If it's left untreated, his retinas will detach."

Sam closed his eyes, contemplating that. It left him feeling weak.

"It'll be okay," said Dean. "They're gonna use a laser to scar the outer part of the retinas to make the growth of the vessels slow down. He may lose some peripheral vision, but he'll still be able to see pretty normally. He might have to wear glasses, but that's no big deal."

"When's the surgery?"

"Tomorrow."

Sam's gaze went to the tiny baby boy sleeping on his back in the incubator, hooked up to the oxygen and all the monitors, and then looked back to Dean with resolve. "I'll be here."

**XXXXXXXX**

Bobby brought Sam's wheelchair back, and he and Sam went back to TJ's room. Dean left to go home and change out of his work clothes and take Rocket for a run in the dog park.

When they reached TJ's room, Fern wasn't there. Sam wheeled up near TJ's bed, and Bobby pulled up a nearby chair and sat next him. Sam still couldn't bring himself to really look at TJ. In fact, he couldn't remember even touching her since the whole coma nightmare began. He imagined her hand feeling cold and lifeless, and he couldn't stand the thought of it.

He and Bobby sat in an awkward silence for a few minutes. There was tension between them left over from everything that had happened.

Sam cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, Bobby. I shouldn't have said that I hated you."

"You weren't yourself."

"I guess you knocked some sense into me."

Bobby snorted.

Sam was leaning forward, resting his forearms on his knees, hands loosely clasped. He looked Bobby in the eye and said earnestly, "I'm glad Dean named my son after you."

Bobby's mouth tightened with emotion, and he nodded.

Another awkward moment passed, and then Sam changed the subject. "So, uh, how long you staying?"

Bobby shrugged. "Couple of days. I was on my way back from a hunt in Oregon when Dean called."

Sam smiled with irony. "So it _was_ an intervention."

"Dean was pretty worried. So was everyone else."

Sam focused on his hands. "Yeah. You guys afraid I was going dark side?"

"No, idjit," Bobby said with irritation. "We were afraid you were gonna end up at the funny farm, though. And Dean didn't want a brother who looked like Barry Gibb."

Sam snorted a laugh and ran his hand over the thick stubble on his jaw. He pretty much had a full-on beard. "TJ would hate this."

Bobby's gaze traveled to TJ. "She would like it. You could be covered in skunk oil and she would like it."

Sam didn't reply and tried to keep a surge of grief at bay.

"Don't give up on her, Sam. She ain't dead."

Sam scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Then why does it feel like she is, Bobby? Why does it—" He stopped speaking, suddenly overcome. He looked up at the ceiling, fighting the stinging in his eyes, trying not to embarrass himself. His voice was thick and coarse when he spoke. "Why does it hurt so damn bad if she's not gone?"

Bobby leaned forward and reached out, putting a hand on Sam's shoulder, right as Ferna Sue walked into the room. Bobby took his hand off Sam's shoulder and stood so Fern could have his chair.

She waved her hand in dismissal at Bobby. "Don't give up your chair, Bobby. I'll find another one."

Bobby shook his head. "No. Please. I'm about to go get something to eat, anyway."

"You sure?"

"Yep."

She glanced at Sam and then back to Bobby. "I ran into Dean on his way out."

Bobby nodded almost imperceptibly and then turned to Sam, clapping him on the back. "I'll be back later."

Sam met his eyes. "Thanks, Bobby."

Bobby left, and Fern sat in the chair next to Sam, fidgeting with a wadded up tissue in her hand. Tension radiated from her, and Sam hated that he'd damaged his relationship with her and that she was so nervous around him. Their relationship had been so easygoing and full of mutual respect for one another before.

He sat back in his chair and exhaled slowly. It seemed he had a thousand apologies to make. "Fern—"

She flinched.

It made him feel sick that she was afraid of him or afraid of what might come out of his mouth, and, on instinct, he reached over and gently took her hand, looking her in the eye. "Fern, I'm so sorry. I said so many horrible things. I..." He ducked his head, ashamed. "I never meant to hurt you or anyone else. It's hard to explain. It was like I just shut down my emotions. Everything was so skewed and upside down." He shook his head and glanced at TJ. "It was easier than..." His throat tightened, hot moisture spilling down his face, and he couldn't go on.

Fern searched his features and then her face crumpled. She leaned toward him, taking him into an embrace. He could feel her body jerking with silent sobs and he held her for a long time. Finally, she withdrew and stood up half way, grabbing some tissues off the nearby bedside table and handing one to him.

They sat in an uncomfortable silence for a minute, neither of them knowing what to say, when she inclined her head toward TJ and spoke again. "She's gettin' stronger."

Sam looked at TJ's still form—the pillows under her in strategic places to prevent pressure sores, the trach sticking out of her neck, all the tubes and wires—and then looked away. She didn't seem any different to him.

"Touch her, Sam. Talk to her. She loves the sound of your voice. She told me once she thinks it's real sexy."

He rolled his eyes and gave an uneasy laugh, feeling heat creep up his neck. "You know, sometimes I wish you and TJ didn't tell each other everything."

Fern laughed and then eyed TJ's hand pointedly. Her tone soft, she said, "Touch her, Sam."

He peered at TJ's hand lying by her side but couldn't make himself move.

"Sam..."

He swallowed thickly. "I—I can't."

Fern stood, took his hand, and gave it a tug, causing his chair to roll a little closer to TJ's bed. Then, without ceremony, she placed his hand on top of TJ's.

His body responded instantly, like an electric current had just charged through him. He was stunned by the warmth coming from TJ's hand, the softness of her skin. She felt surprisingly alive. How could he have denied himself this? A noise like a small sob tore from him.

He squeezed her hand, doubting that he'd ever be able to let go again, and looked hopefully at her face. He didn't know what he was expecting—a miracle, maybe? That his touch would awaken her like in the movies, that it was him that she'd needed all along. Now that he was there—really there, in mind as well as body—she could wake up.

It didn't happen, of course. She had no response at all, not even a blip on the heart monitor. Fern went around to the other side of the bed and began to smooth TJ's hair away from her face in a motherly gesture. "Sam's back, sugar."

Sam looked away, his eyes blurring with moisture yet again.

Fern continued to talk to TJ for a while and then kissed her goodbye. Then she walked around the bed and put a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Come with me, hon."

He glanced at TJ, suddenly not comfortable with leaving her alone, even though he'd basically ignored her for the past two and a half months.

Fern gave a tired smile. "Come on. I promise I won't take you away from her for long."

Sam reluctantly let go of TJ's hand and followed Fern out of the room. They took an elevator two floors down, and when he saw where they were going, he stopped. Fern was taking him to the chapel.

Fern noticed he'd stopped and jerked her head, indicating for him to keep going into the little sanctuary.

"Uh, I don't think that's a good idea," he said.

She frowned. "Why not, hon?"

He swallowed. "It's just not my thing."

"You afraid you're gonna get struck by lightnin'?

Sam looked at her sharply. Had TJ told Fern about the demon blood? He shook his head. "No. Nothing like that."

"Then why?" Her expression was neutral, unreadable.

He gritted his teeth, flipping through plausible excuses in his brain. He decided something close to the truth would suffice. "I...I don't think God and I are on the best of terms."

"Oh, sugar. I know it might not seem like it, but these are the times that He's with us the most. Just come with me, just this once."

He stalled for a moment but finally exhaled and pushed himself toward the door of the small, empty chapel. Once inside, Fern sat in a pew a few rows back from the altar, and Sam transferred from his chair to the pew and sat next to her.

She took his hand and squeezed it reassuringly, but Sam was still uneasy—and a little angry. This was a waste of time. God had obviously forgotten him a long time ago.

Fern bowed her head and closed her eyes. She was quiet, and Sam wondered if she was praying to herself. He decided he would just humor her and wait her out.

"Bow your head, hon."

Sam raised his brows in surprise.

"I've got eyes on all sides of my head. Now, bow your head."

Sam was chastened and did as she asked.

Once she was satisfied his head was bowed, she began to pray. "Dear Heavenly Father, thank you for all the blessings you've given us this day, especially for my son-in-law comin' to his senses, even though he had to have a little help."

Sam felt sheepish and kept his eyes closed and his head bowed, although he thought he sensed Fern peering at him surreptitiously.

"Thank you, as always, for blessing us with Robby and Sami Joy, and, if it be your will, please continue to watch over them and keep them healthy. Please be with the eye surgeon tomorrow and give him a steady hand as he operates on Robby's eyes. Please help Vern to figure out how to turn the dang stove on and use the microwave so he don't starve to death or put us in the poorhouse eatin' at Donna's Diner every day."

Sam smiled.

"And last but not least, please continue to help TJ to heal and bring her back to us. All these things we pray in Jesus' precious name. Amen."

Sam peeked out of the corner of his eye. Fern's head was still bowed, eyes still closed. She elbowed him in the ribs and he frowned, not sure what he was supposed to do.

"Say 'amen,' hon," she whispered out of the side of her mouth.

"Oh. Uh, amen."

She raised her head and looked him over. "Now, see? The earth didn't crack open and swallow you. Maybe you're on better terms with God than you thought."

He mulled that over.

"Besides, I'm thinkin' you might want God on your side if anything ever does come of that demon blood in you."

He stared at her, stunned.

She laughed and patted his hand. "Like you said, TJ tells me everything. And _I _tell Vern everything."

**XXXXXXXX**

Sam was lying next to TJ, reading to her. The nurses had positioned her so that he could lie on the bed with her and not interfere with any of the stuff she was hooked up to. He was on his side, head propped up with one hand and the other hand holding the book. He was reading a book to her that Fern thought TJ would like called _The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society_. Sam had to admit he sort of liked the book, which was shaping up to be a romance, but he'd never say it out loud.

He glanced at his watch. Fern would be there soon to take over her "shift" with TJ. He folded the corner of the page he was on, then shut the book and set it on the nearby bedside table. "Sorry, Teej. That's all for today." He held up his hand as if she'd protested. "I know. I know. I'll be back tomorrow to read you more, and don't try to talk Fern into reading it without me." He lowered his voice and confessed in a whisper, "I don't wanna miss any parts."

She didn't answer, of course.

He shifted a little and laid his head on her pillow, very close to her, breathing in the scent of her hair. She smelled more like the hospital than anything else, but there was still some of her scent there, something he couldn't describe but that drew him, that teased and stirred his love for her.

He gently kissed the soft skin of her cheek and caressed her cheekbone with his thumb, then cradled her face in his hand. "I love you," he whispered into her ear.

Again, no response. He stared at the tube protruding from her neck and listened to the faint swoosh of the vent. If it weren't for that, he could almost convince himself that there was nothing really wrong with her, that she was just asleep. A wave of anguish washed over him and his chest tightened. His voice was raspy when he spoke. "You gotta start breathing on your own again, TJ. Quit being lazy."

He could imagine her scrunching up her freckles and giving him a wry look.

He fought the ache in his heart and idly fingered the ID bracelet on her wrist. "The twins are gonna be ready to go home soon. They're fourteen weeks old now—thirty-seven weeks gestation." He sighed. "Not sure how we're gonna handle taking care of them. At least they're healthy. Their nurses keep gushing about it, how they're doing way better than any micros they've ever seen. They're being weaned off the oxygen, although they're still trying to learn how to feed and still have to have the feeding tubes. It's a big deal, you know, learning how to coordinate breathing while sucking and swallowing from a bottle." He took her lax hand and kissed it. "They really are little miracles. You did good."

He waited, pretending that she might contribute to this one-sided conversation. When she didn't, he continued. "Your mom's got to go back to Kentucky eventually. She said Vern's probably starving to death on cereal and ham and cheese sandwiches, or else he's gonna have a heart attack eating chicken-fried steak every night at Donna's."

He exhaled a long breath. "We have to decide where you're gonna stay long-term. You won't believe how expensive places that do subacute care for coma patients are. There's one up in Delano that will work with us financially, but it's four and a half hours away. I'm not sure how we could make that work, but don't worry. I'm not gonna stick you up there all alone."

He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. He'd been over and over this in his head and never came up with a good solution. The hospital unit she was in now was adequate but expensive, and he wanted TJ in a facility that specialized in patients like her. "I guess I'll keep doing the freelance paralegal thing. It pays okay, and I can work from home most of the time."

He didn't mention how it didn't pay near enough to cover all the medical bills they were racking up, even with the help of their crappy insurance. He was up to his eyeballs in debt and would probably be paying it off for years. "I'm getting a lot of work, but I can still stay home with the babies, or at least that's the plan. Fern's skeptical. She says I won't have any time for work with two newborns. Dean, Heather, Gretchen and even Ralph have offered to help. I guess Ralph's not such a bad guy. He proposed to Gretchen last week, so now they're engaged."

He smirked and squeezed TJ's hand. "I think Dean's starting to feel the pressure. He's been dating Heather longer than any of the rest of us have been together, but he still hasn't taken the plunge. She's not helping her case any by bugging him about hunting, though. I don't think he's ever gonna agree to that. I don't think _he's_ even taken a job in months. He's been using us and the babies as an excuse to turn down hunts." He felt a twinge of remorse and cleared his throat. "I guess it's good that he did, since I, uh, kind of took a vacation from reality for a while. I'm sorry for that, Teej." He'd apologized to her before for the complete dick he'd been, but it never seemed enough. "Thank God for Dean. He really took good care of Robby and Sami Joy after they were first born."

He lay there for a moment in the silence, the artificial noise of the machines and monitors the only things keeping him company. There wasn't even any human noise from the vicinity of TJ's roommate. The poor woman—another comatose patient—didn't have hardly any visitors. He couldn't stand the thought of that happening to TJ if they placed her in the facility in Delano. He'd even thought of moving there, but he didn't think he could take care of the twins all by himself and work and watch over TJ. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he probably needed the support Dean and their friends had offered him.

He heard a sound at the door and saw Ferna Sue walk in, her hair perfectly coiffed in its blond helmet bob. He gave TJ's hand one last kiss and levered himself into a sitting position, then quickly transferred himself to his chair.

Ferna Sue hugged him in her usual greeting, enveloping him in a cloud of perfume. "Hey, hon. How's she doin'?"

"Good. They turned her about an hour and a half ago, so make sure they do it again in about thirty minutes." The nurses had to turn TJ over every two hours so that she wouldn't develop bedsores.

"All right, sugar. You goin' home?"

"I'm gonna check on the twins first. I've probably missed their feeding, but I just want to say goodbye to them."

She nodded.

"I'll see you at the apartment later," said Sam.

"I left you some of that vegetarian meatloaf in the fridge. Now, there's an oxymoron, if I ever heard one."

He smiled. "Thanks. You didn't have to do that."

Ferna Sue was a great roommate. She was always cooking something so that they would all have at least one decent meal a day. Dean didn't even complain that most of the stuff she fixed was healthy—the kind of stuff that Sam and TJ liked—because Fern threw a pie into the mix at least once a week.

Fern cupped Sam's cheek, a flash of emotion in her green eyes. "Yes, I did have to do that, hon. More than you know." She let her hand drop to her side and smiled. "I think I'm gonna have to break down and fix Dean something that'll stick to his ribs, though. He hasn't complained, but I think he's gettin' tired of the vegetarian stuff."

"Just keep making him pies. He'll never say a word."

She chuckled. "Yeah. I think he might rival Vernon in the pie department."

They were quiet for a moment, and then he said, "So, uh, I guess I'll be going."

She put a hand on his shoulder, her expression pensive. "Can I talk to you for a sec, Sam?"

"Sure."

She sat down in the chair that was near TJ's bed and faced him at eye level. "I know you've been lookin' into places for TJ, you know, for after the babies are released."

His stomach knotted a bit at the reminder. "Yeah."

"Well, I've got a proposition for you."

"What?"

"There's a facility in Moss Fork. TJ's Aunt Tru works there as a nurse. There's a waiting list to get into it, but I've been talking to her about it. She thinks she can get TJ a bed there."

He was intrigued and a little cautious. "What kind of facility."

She took a deep breath. "A nursing home."

He wanted to say _No fucking way,_ but this was, after all, his mother-in-law he was talking to.

Before he could speak, she held up one of her small hands. "Before you object, let me tell you about it."

He gave a short nod.

"First of all, TJ's Aunt Tru is the head nurse there, and she practically runs the place. There's no way they're not gonna take excellent care of TJ. Everyone there knows there will be hell to pay if they don't. Second of all, it's not what you think nursing homes are like. It don't have that funky smell like a lot of 'em have, and there's younger people there, too, people recovering from severe injuries from car accidents and the like. It's the best nursing home in the county and one of the best in the state."

He still wasn't convinced, but he didn't want to hurt Fern's feelings by automatically shooting it down.

She put her hand on top of his. "Think about it, Sam. That's all I'm sayin'. Vern and I would be there to help you with the twins. I've got enough sick leave and personal days built up so that I won't have to go back to teaching until next fall. I would be able to help you with the twins and TJ so you could get some work done."

"Dean can help me—and Heather and Gretchen."

"Oh, hon. I know they'll do their best, but they're still gonna have to work. How are you gonna juggle the twins, sitting with TJ, and work when none of them are around to help?"

"I can work on my laptop while I'm sitting with TJ."

She eyed him dubiously. "You gonna bring the twins with you to do that? And have you found a place here in San Diego you can afford?"

He scrubbed both his hands over his face and drew in a deep breath. "No."

"The cost of the facility in Moss Fork would probably be about half of anything you'd pay here in California. She could have a private room. The place is about five miles from the farm. You and the twins could live with us there. You wouldn't have any living expenses, and you'd have me and Vern and half the county as free babysitters."

He shook his head. "I don't know. If it's a nursing home—I mean, is it just a place where they would feed her and take care of her basic needs but nothing else? If so, she's getting that where she is now. I want her in a place that will do everything possible to try and help her wake up, Fern. I want her in a place that knows what they're doing when it comes to her physical therapy, too."

She nodded. "Absolutely. I'm with you there. I asked Tru about it. She said they have an excellent physical therapist who divides his time between there and the county hospital who could work with TJ. There's a great occupational therapist, too, if..." she faltered, "...if TJ needs that when she wakes up. Tru said all the doctors there are excellent." She paused, and her voice was soft when she spoke again. "Just because it's a small country town doesn't mean we don't have modern medicine, Sam."

He frowned slightly. "I know. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply that."

She waved her hand. "I know, and you didn't. I just felt the need to say it." She gave him a faint, apologetic smile and continued her petition. "I think you know stimulation from friends and family is one of the things they say helps coma patients. I know she wouldn't have Dean, Gretchen, and Heather, but she's got cousins, aunts, uncles and a few high school friends that still live in Moss Fork. Then there's all the people from our church who we're close to. She would never lack for company, I promise you."

He had to admit, Fern had a compelling argument. "How would we get her there?"

"I already checked into it. We can fly her by air ambulance."

"Fern, that'll cost a fortune."

"Mm-hm. About $28,000."

"Last I checked, I don't have $28,000 lying around."

She chuckled and gave his hand another squeeze. "Well, sugar, that's the beauty of being from a small town. Our church started a fund-raising drive once it became clear that TJ wasn't..." There was a flicker of pain in her eyes and she put three fingers over her lips, chin quivering, but quickly composed herself. "Well, you know," she said, "once it became clear we were all in this for the long haul. They've raised about $30,000 so far from folks in Tucker County."

Sam was astonished. "I can't—are you serious? I mean, that's—that's really generous, but I can't accept that."

She shrugged. "Well, it's not like we can give it back. We're talkin' a dollar here, a dollar there—money people stuck in jars at Kroger's and Kmart, places like that. There's probably some bake sales, car washes, and some of those, you know, fun walks or whatever you call 'em thrown into the mix." She got a sad, wistful smile on her face. "TJ's friend Jeremy contributed a large chunk, too, bless his heart. He's president of the local bank, now, but I think the money came out of his own personal funds. His family and ours are neighbors and have always been close."

Sam's wariness must have shown because she gave him a reassuring pat on his arm. "Don't think of it as charity, hon. Someday we'll return the favor. Trust me. Tucker County might look like a bunch of hillbillies to the rest of the world, but at least we take care of our own."

He looked at TJ lying so still and knew he was out of objections. It would be hard to leave Dean, and he'd probably have to find new clients for his work, but he had to think about TJ and the twins and what was best for them. "What do you think, Teej?" he asked quietly, wishing with all his heart she would answer back.

She didn't.

He reached up and brushed his knuckles against her cheek. "Looks like you're going home."

_**TBC**_


	13. Chapter 13

_**A/N: Special thanks goes to Catsluver for sharing her medical expertise on this chapter. Her insights and suggestions made this chapter immensely better. Any inaccuracies are solely mine.**_

_**Thanks to sallyloveslinus for getting this chapter back to me in time for posting, even though she didn't have much time to work on it and it's extra long. Thanks also for catching all those little mistakes my brain refuses to see. :) Any errors are ones I put there after her beta because I'm obsessive compulsive and can't stop editing.**_

_***WARNING* There is a sex scene in this chapter, although it's not explicit. I'm keeping it rated T.**_

_****A/N #2** Okay. Remember when I said at the beginning that you may want to strangle certain characters? Well, in the second part of this story, you're about to find out why I said that. Just remember that no one will be all bad, and remember the categories this story was put in: hurt/comfort and ROMANCE. So even when a certain someone really ticks you off, KEEP READING.  
**_

* * *

**PART 2**

**A RUDE AWAKENING**

* * *

**Chapter 13**

At first, all she felt were sensations, faint and fleeting—a light stroking of her hand, a soft brushing of her hair, a pleasant rumble of velvety sound in her ear. That was all she could decipher in the dark haze that was her world.

Then, slowly, she started to become more aware. There was something not right about her breathing, something interfering with it. Sometimes she got really irritated that she didn't have control over it and fought whatever it was that was hindering her. Once, when she did that, voices penetrated the haze, but she couldn't make out what they were saying.

Time was nonexistent, but she had a growing sense that she was someone—a person—but who? She was perplexed by the question, but she couldn't hold onto the thought long enough to make anything of it and drifted back into nothingness.

Sometimes there was pain in her finger, like someone was mashing her fingernail, and sometimes she felt a roughness on her chest, like someone was using her sternum as a washboard. She didn't like it, but she couldn't get her body working to fight back. Her arms and legs felt like useless pieces of wood, like the heavy tree limbs that sometimes fell from the oak trees at her parents' farm after a particularly violent thunderstorm.

Oh, that's right. She had parents. What were their names? They were on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn't get her foggy brain to produce them. It was like that with everything, like she was on the verge of some kind of breakthrough, but then it would disappear and she would be lost in the dark again.

Another time she channeled all her hard-won energy into opening her heavy, heavy eyelids, but nothing came of it except a heap of trouble. She couldn't see anything but an intensely bright light that made her head hurt, and she decided she could live without that. To top it all off, the voices that only spoke gibberish wouldn't leave her alone. So, yeah. Opening her eyes had been a _huge_ mistake. She vowed not to do it again, but the voices just wouldn't shut up, and the damn thing keeping her from breathing right was pissing her off. She was tempted to try to wake up just so she could find some help.

She couldn't pinpoint the exact moment that she started really being able to put thoughts together, but, slowly, she was able to assemble the fragments into some kind of order. She started to get scared. The dark abyss that had been a refuge before was becoming oppressive, and she tried to get away from it, started to seek out the voices. They were kind of comforting now, and she tried to reach them, could even make out some of what they were saying.

They called her TJ, and she guessed that must be her name. Yeah. It felt right. She was TJ. They kept telling her to wake up until it was like a broken record in her head. She tried opening her eyes again because it seemed to make the voices happy. She didn't know why it made them so happy. She thought opening her eyes was overrated, since she couldn't make heads or tails of anything. At least she was getting used to the bright light and it didn't make her head ache as much.

Gradually, she began to make out shapes, darks and grays and whites, even some color. She couldn't make out faces, but she could see the outlines of people. Some were starting to become familiar, like the one that called herself "Mama." Yeah. That made sense. _Mama._ That was one of her parents' names. And the other one was—she couldn't remember, and it was so frustrating!

He'd been there, too. What had he said his name was? He was her...dang it. She just couldn't get it to come to her. Wait. What went with mamas? Sometimes that helped, if she tried to think of the name of something by associating it with something else. Oh, yes. Daddies went with mamas. _Daddy._ That was his name.

Okay. So there was Mama and Daddy. Now, who were those other people? It seemed that remembering Mama and Daddy opened the door for recognizing others. There was Aunt Tru with her raspy smoker's voice and mischievous bright-blue eyes identical to Daddy's. Then there was TJ's friend Katrina with her rich, coffee-flavored voice and coffee-colored skin.

Some people TJ still didn't recognize, even after her vision cleared a little more and she could make out features. There was a blond girl, a pretty redhead, and a good-looking guy with short hair, but she couldn't remember their names and they weren't there as much as some of the others.

There was also a dark-haired guy with dimples named Sam. She wondered who the heck he was because he sure was there a lot.

Some of the people made her heart feel lighter, made her want to laugh (although she hadn't quite managed a laugh yet), like Jeremy. She remembered him almost as much as Mama and Daddy. He felt _right_, like he'd always been a part of her life, and when he was there talking to her, she tried really hard to talk back. Something kept her from it, though, something besides her addled brain—the same something that kept screwing with her breathing.

She got to where she could stay awake for longer periods of time. She wasn't sure when the realization came to her, but she was in some kind of hospital. Aunt Tru was one of her nurses. There were other people that worked in this place where TJ was, people that poked and prodded her and got in her face and asked her questions. One of them moved her arms and legs around, and TJ was relieved that her arms and legs weren't made of wood after all. She tried moving them on her own, and while she wouldn't be running a marathon anytime soon, at least she was starting to be able to shift them around.

She wasn't sure how long it took, but eventually she was able to lift her hand, and she felt around for that thing that was screwing with her breathing. It felt like it was keeping her from swallowing, and it was stealing her voice, too. She wanted desperately to be able to make sound.

Ah, yes. Right there. She felt a tube sticking out of her neck, like a plastic hose was hooked up to her. Wait. How could something be sticking out of her neck? No wonder she couldn't breathe right. It pissed her off and scared her, and she tried to yank on it, but all she managed to do with her uncoordinated hand was sort of bat at it. Even that cost her a tremendous amount of effort.

Okay. Batting at it was a really bad idea. It _hurt_, and, even worse, it didn't do her any good. The hose was lodged in her neck and wouldn't budge.

Suddenly, it was like she had set off World War III. There was a high-pitched, loud beeping noise, and then that Sam guy was there. He was saying something to her, but she couldn't make out what he said among all the racket. Not that she could make out half of what anyone said anyway. It was like everyone spoke a different language, except for a few words that had come back to her.

That Sam guy sure did look worried. She didn't know him from Adam, but he had kind eyes that made her feel calm. She could feel him holding her hand, and it felt nice.

Then he was squeezed out of the way and her Aunt Tru was there. TJ felt relieved. Aunt Tru would fix whatever was wrong with TJ's neck. TJ wondered if Aunt Tru had gotten another job in a regular hospital because she used to work in an old folks home. Aunt Tru was barking orders at another nurse that TJ didn't recognize, and then TJ felt a pressure on her neck in the place where the hole was. What was Aunt Tru doing?

TJ was flooded with fury when she realized her aunt wasn't taking the hose out. She was fiddling with it, like she was fixing it or something. TJ fought with all her might, trying to push Aunt Tru out of the way, but she had no strength. It was like she was a butterfly battling a gorilla.

Suddenly, Mama appeared on the other side from Aunt Tru. TJ moved her lips and said, _"Mama, help me." _She wondered if she mouthed it right because Mama frowned like she didn't understand. TJ pressed her lips together and then tried to lick them, but her tongue was as dry as sandpaper. There didn't seem to be a drop of moisture in her mouth. Still, she tried again, slower this time. _"Help...me...Mama."_

No sound would come out because of the damn thing in her neck. It wasn't letting any air get to her nose or mouth. She scrunched her face in frustration.

Her mom wiped something off her cheek, something wet, and there was a sympathetic, apologetic look on her face. She was saying something that TJ couldn't make out. TJ was getting more frustrated with every second. She felt like a caged animal.

Her mom kept crooning to TJ, but she wasn't doing anything to help. TJ was scared and didn't understand why no one in her family would do anything to free her. Then she felt someone take her hand. That Sam guy—whoever the hell he was—had taken Aunt Tru's place. "Shh," he said.

Well, at least she could make out what that meant. But, hello? Why was he shushing her when she couldn't talk in the first place? He said other things she felt like she was on the cusp of understanding but couldn't quite make out, and his voice was soothing. He'd been nice to her, but she was in one hell of a predicament here and was irritated that this stranger seemed right in the middle of it. Was he a doctor or something? He didn't do any of the stuff the other ones with the white coats did. In fact, he never wore a white coat and he was always sitting down, which was kind of weird and made it harder to make out his features clearly, except for his dimples. She liked dimples.

Was he some friend of her parents'? Maybe he was someone new at the church. It made her tired trying to figure it out, so she looked away and weakly pulled on her hand, trying to get free of him, but he wouldn't let go.

Jeremy was on her other side now, in place of Mama, his handsome, familiar face close to TJ's, his gray eyes filled with concern. His light-brown hair was shorter. The last time she'd seen him, it was long, and he'd sworn never to cut it short.

He put his hand on her cheek. "Hey, Pippi. It's Jeremy."

Duh. As if she wouldn't know. He was on her heart's radar at all times. He called her "Pippi" after Pippi Longstocking because of her freckles and because he knew it annoyed her.

"_Sucks," _she tried to shoot back, but—damn it—there was still no sound. He frowned and tilted his head, almost like her hound dog Elliott when he didn't understand something.

She tried it again, this time trying to get her mouth to form a smile. _"Sucks." _His last name was Suggs, so she called him "Sucks" in retaliation for the Pippi.

He looked perplexed at first but then a huge grin spread across his face and he gently tweaked her nose. "You're gonna pay for that." He looked away and spoke to someone out of TJ's line of sight. "She just called me Sucks!" He sounded way too excited about something that she'd been doing all her life.

TJ thought she could maybe see someone standing near him, maybe her mom, but she wasn't for sure. She couldn't see anything very far away. And then it clicked in her brain what had just happened. She'd understood what Jeremy said! He was laughing now, and so were other people in the room.

"TJ?" It was Aunt Tru.

Mercy. TJ was getting dizzy trying to keep up with all the people floating in and out of her vision.

"TJ, it's Aunt Tru. You've got a tube in your neck that's helping you breathe, sugar. Nod if you understand me."

TJ nodded.

Aunt Tru gave a watery smile. "That's good, baby." She squeezed TJ's hand. "That's real good. You got to leave that vent tubing alone. Okay?"

TJ scowled and shook her head minutely. _"Out," _she mouthed.

"No, baby. I'm sorry. We have to wean you off of it. You've had it for a long time, and we can't just yank it out. You'd have trouble breathing."

TJ stared, wondering if she'd heard right. What did Aunt Tru mean that she'd had it for a long time? What the hell happened to her? She started to feel panicked again. There were so many questions she wanted to ask. If she'd been there a long time, what about school? She was a week away from being a freshman at San Diego State. She was finally getting the hell out of Moss Fork.

Her escape was bittersweet, though, because her relationship with Jeremy had changed recently_. _He'd been her best friend ever since she could remember. Just her luck that he realized what he'd been missing right as they were leaving for college. It would be tough. He was going to UK, and she'd gotten a scholarship to San Diego State, but she knew they would somehow make it work. They were meant to be, like two peas in a pod since the day they were born. They even shared the same birthday, July 31st—or, at least, that's when her parents and the doctors had figured her birthday was, since she was found on her parents' doorstep and no one knew for sure when she'd been born.

Jeremy's family farm bordered hers, and their mothers were best friends. TJ and Jeremy were inseparable as small kids and up through high school, even throughout his string of girlfriends that he always asked her for advice on. She'd been secretly crushed. It seemed he would go out with every girl in Tucker County except her. He saw her as nothing more than his buddy, like a sister—or he had until a few weeks ago.

She'd never forget their first kiss—their first _real_ kiss. Lord have mercy. The feel of Jeremy's lips on hers, his tongue inside her mouth, had caused a 4th of July fireworks display to go off in her body. And that was just the beginning.

Things progressed quickly after that, and he'd been so sweet and attentive and flirty with her. Mia Rossen, the other waitress that TJ and Jeremy worked with at Donna's, had been green with envy—the slut. She'd been trying to get into Jeremy's jeans ever since he'd started working for Donna. TJ had to admit, she was a little surprised that he'd chosen her over Mia. Mia was a cheerleader and was blond, petite, and pretty—the complete opposite of TJ in looks.

But it seemed that, after a lifetime, Jeremy had _finally_ noticed TJ as more than a friend, and she would never forget the night they'd done _way _more than kissing.

They had just gotten off work from Donna's and were swimming in the pond at the farm in just their underwear. Usually, on these nights after work, they just sat on the bank, talking and kissing, but tonight was different. TJ felt indecent, knowing that her now-wet white cotton bra did nothing to hide her nipples, but Jeremy had talked her into it—with the help of some of his Uncle Wade's homemade wine. Of course, Jeremy could talk her into doing just about anything. She'd been in trouble as a kid more times than she could count because of Jeremy's bright ideas.

He ducked under the water and head-butted her stomach, and she felt self-conscious that he was seeing—or probably feeling, since it was so dark—how fat she was. Her belly fat was probably jiggling all over the place. She tried to push him away, but he grabbed her wrists and came up for air, his face nose to nose with hers. He smiled his crooked smile that melted her heart, and his long hair that scandalized both sets of their parents cascaded like a waterfall to his shoulders. He was beautiful.

"Don't push me away, Nelly," he admonished.

She felt heat rise up her neck and hoped her blush didn't show in the moonlight. He let go of her wrists and slid his hands onto her waist. She flinched, sucking in her tummy, but she knew it was futile. "Please, Jeremy. Don't."

His gray eyes held her fast. "Why?"

"Just don't. I know I'm not like the others."

He tilted his head a little. "What do you mean?"

"The other girls you've gone out with. I'm not like them. I know you could get someone much prettier than me."

He kissed her chastely on the lips. "You're pretty everywhere it counts, Nelly. Don't worry about the others. You're the one I'm with." He kissed her harder then, passionately, and it caused her blood to sing through her body.

They made their way to the bank of the pond, and he unhooked her bra. It was surprisingly easy for him—a little too easy—but she didn't want to think on that. He was with her right now, and that's all that mattered. His hands on her breasts were eager, and she tried to enjoy it, tried not to be afraid.

"Trust me, Nelly," he whispered into her ear, and then he kissed her neck. She felt a shiver down her spine. She would trust him because she loved him.

He reached over and fumbled with his jeans, which were lying near them, and then she saw him putting on a condom. Her face flamed and her heart thudded loudly in her ears.

It was over soon afterward. It had left her longing for something more, but it was a relief that it was over. The pain hadn't been as bad as she thought it would be, and now she was his, totally and completely. He had made her his, and he had been gentle.

He lay sprawled on the bank, panting a little, and she scooted over and laid her head on his chest.

She was a woman now, _his_ woman. She was overcome, aware that something monumental had happened to her, a rite of passage. "I love you, Jeremy." Her voice broke a little on the words, and she fought tears.

He wrapped his arm around her and hugged her close.

"I don't want to leave you," she said. "It'll be so hard being so far away from you."

"I'll miss you, too, Nelly." He kissed the top of her head. "You're my best friend."

His words annoyed her a bit, but she was being silly. Lovers could be best friends. The fact that they were friends first would only make their relationship stronger. He obviously saw her as more than a friend after what they'd just shared.

"Maybe you can come to SDSU for fall break. I hope our breaks are at the same time."

He cleared his throat. "Yeah. Me, too."

"Maybe—"

"Shh, Nelly. Let's talk about the future later. Look at those stars up there. There ain't a cloud in the sky, and you can see billions of 'em."

She rose up and kissed his cheek. He still smelled a little like Donna's—like burgers and chicken-fried steak—even after their dip in the pond.

He smiled and started to sing some goofy song about katydids that he'd probably made up. She rolled her eyes and snickered, and he faltered in his singing, laughing with her. He levered himself to where he was suddenly on top of her, skin on skin, and smiled down at her, his gray eyes warm and liquid, like quicksilver. "You're a hell of a girl, TJ Nelek." Then he kissed her thoroughly one more time before he jumped up and got dressed.

She was kind of miffed at him for not calling her in the last few days—or at least it was just a few days until something had obviously happened to her and she'd woken up to this hospital nightmare. Maybe she'd been in a car wreck or something.

She knew one thing—she had to get out of this place. She had to get this fucking tube out of her neck and try to figure out how to get herself off to college. What if she'd been here so long she'd lost her scholarship? Her heart sank at the thought. What would she do? Maybe it was for the best, although the thought made her sad. She'd worked hard for that scholarship, had dreamed of living in California and going to one of the best research universities in the U.S. She was going to major in biology and be a research scientist.

It would be devastating if she lost her scholarship, but at least there was one consolation. She could go to the University of Kentucky with Jeremy. Maybe this accident or whatever was wrong with her was God's way of putting her where she belonged—with Jeremy.

Her eyelids began to feel heavy, even though she tried to fight it. She wanted to ask questions, but it was too much effort right now, what with battling the tube and the concentration it took to make out what people were saying. At least it was finally paying off and she'd understood Jeremy and Aunt Tru.

She blinked, and it took a huge effort to keep her eyes open.

Aunt Tru frowned. "TJ, can you stay awake, honey?"

TJ wanted to respond, but things were getting foggy again and she couldn't make anything work. The last thing she heard before the darkness closed in was a deep, husky voice saying, "I love you, TJ."

She hoped it was Jeremy.

**XXXXXXXX**

The next few times she woke up, she forgot what people told her about the ventilator and fought it until Aunt Tru or some other hospital person would threaten to sedate her. TJ was more terrified of being sedated than she was angry about the vent. It took so much energy to wake up and try to be aware of everything that was going on. The last thing she wanted was something that would push her back into oblivion.

Each time she woke up, she would glean more bits of information. She was told she'd had a major stroke—and apparently was told that again and again until it finally sank in and she remembered. She'd been in a coma, but she was improving each day. She'd be better in no time.

And then things really got weird. Her mom and dad and everyone else, even that Sam guy, kept talking about the "twins," kept telling her how she'd done so well, that they were healthy, that she and the twins would all be okay. Robby and Sami Joy, the twins.

Why did everyone think she cared about them? Did some cousin of hers have twins or something? It didn't make any sense, so she listened politely as everyone went on and on about the twins and promised to bring them to see her soon.

She didn't understand how she could have had a stroke—she was only eighteen years old—but it was hard to convey that, since no one could read her lips that well and her hands were too uncoordinated and weak to write anything. She communicated mainly by nodding or shaking her head, and it was all exhausting, enormously confusing, and exasperating.

She didn't know how long this cycle of waking up, talking, and forgetting went on, but each time she awoke, she seemed to remember a little more about her life, although that Sam guy and that business about the twins still baffled her.

The next time she woke up, the room was quiet except for the quiet rumble of a familiar voice. By now, she was used to Sam reading to her. He really did have a nice voice and he sure was good about staying with her. Maybe he was some kind of pastor in training or something for the church. Unless maybe Pastor Henry was gone and Sam had taken over.

Methodists were like that. If the church got a preacher everyone liked, it was pretty much a guarantee he'd receive orders from on high that it was time to move on. Who knew? She couldn't make heads or tails out of how much time had passed. Maybe someone told her that Pastor Henry was gone and she didn't remember.

Sam was looking down at the book he was reading, and she listened for a while. Slowly but surely, the gibberish everyone had been speaking started to sound more and more like English. She could pretty much comprehend what everyone said to her now, but she wasn't sure they knew how much she could understand. Sometimes they talked to her like she was a preschooler, which she found annoying.

She was lying on her side, pillows all around her. It seemed like she was always waking up in a different position and not knowing how she got that way. Her muscles were still weak but were getting better. At first, she was like Westley from _The Princess Bride _after Miracle Max brought him back to life—pretty much like a rag doll—but now she was starting to regain some control.

She blinked a few times to get Sam's face more into focus. Her vision was improving, and she was able to see farther away. For the first time, she really looked at him. He was cute. Well, actually, he was hot. He had a nice face with strong, masculine features, a square jaw, and a faint cleft in his chin. His hair was nice, too—kind of shaggy and a tad too long. Her dad would have said Sam looked like one of those damn liberals from Louisville (the only slur Vernon Nelek would ever utter about his beloved alma mater).

Maybe Sam was some kind of college intern. Maybe he was working with all those other hospital people who talked to her and asked her questions all the time. Maybe reading to her was some kind of therapy or experiment he would write a paper or an article about.

He must have sensed her eyes on him because he raised his head up to look at her and smiled when he saw that she was awake.

_Mercy._ He had a really nice smile, all dimples and white teeth. He was way out of her league. Not that it mattered. He looked too old for her, all manly, like he was maybe in his twenties. Besides, she had Jeremy.

"Hey, Teej." Sam's voice was like warm honey.

She didn't respond, just kept studying him and wishing she had some warm honey on a warm, homemade biscuit. When was the last time she'd eaten? The question was distressing because she couldn't remember, and she should be able to. It was such a mundane thing. Feeling a niggling feeling of panic, she went back to her assessment of Sam in order to get her mind off the disturbing thoughts.

He had broad shoulders and muscular arms, nice hands with long tapered fingers, and he was..._sitting in a wheelchair?_ His legs weren't so muscular and his jeans were kind of loose.

Oh. He was handicapped.

Her stomach clenched and she tried not to stare at his legs or the wheelchair. God, she'd really been out of it if she hadn't noticed that before. That explained why he was the only one that didn't hover over her.

Well, that gave credence to her theory that he must be some kind of psych intern. Psychology or psychiatry would be good professions for someone who was handicapped, right? Although the pastor thing might still fit him, too. She supposed standing didn't have to be a requirement for being a good pastor. Maybe he could sit behind a desk and preach instead of a pulpit.

Her arm was resting on a pillow, and he touched her hand, rubbing circles on the back of it. It felt good, but it was a little strange. The gesture seemed too intimate if he was a psych intern or an aspiring preacher. It was kind of unprofessional and creepy.

She moved her hand as much as she could, trying to pull it away.

His brows went up and his smile widened. "That was good." He put her hand more firmly in his, obviously not realizing she'd been trying to get it away from him. "Can you squeeze my hand?"

She did, squeezing as hard as she could.

He gave a surprised laugh. "You're getting stronger."

She nodded.

"Do you know who I am?"

She nodded again.

"What's my name?"

"_Sam,"_ she mouthed.

Again, he smiled. At least there was nothing creepy about that. It was gorgeous. "Yes," he said. "Do you know where you are?"

"_Hospital."_

"Do you remember what we said happened to you?"

"_Stroke."_

He kissed her hand, which she thought was _really_ inappropriate, but he seemed so genuinely happy that she didn't hold it against him. Maybe he was just a little overly exuberant. Besides, he obviously wasn't from around here. He had an accent—or rather he had a lack of one. He didn't really sound like he was from anywhere in particular. He must be from a big city somewhere.

Maybe he'd been working with her for a long time and she'd just had some sort of breakthrough or something. How long had they said she'd been there? She couldn't remember. A lot of things were still really fuzzy and confusing to her.

He relaxed his hand and she weakly pulled hers away from his grasp. She still didn't have very good motor control, but she reached awkwardly for the tube in her throat.

He leaned toward her and grabbed her hand. "No, no. Don't do that, Teej. It'll hurt, and it won't do you any good."

She wondered why he called her "Teej" but was more annoyed with the tube in her throat. _"Out_," she mouthed.

He laid her hand gently back on the pillow and left his hand on top of hers. She noticed a shiny gold wedding band on his ring finger and was reminded again of how he had kissed her hand. _Weird. _He shouldn't have done that if he was married.

"I know," he said with sympathy. "I know you want the tube out. Once you start staying awake more, they'll start to wean you off of it."

She frowned, wondering why they couldn't just take the damn thing out.

"You've been on the ventilator for a long time," he explained. "They can't just take it out. They have to do it gradually so your body can adjust to breathing on its own again."

Her eyelids felt heavy and she closed them, a little tired but more frustrated than anything. She wished she could talk. She could tell them all that they were wrong, that she didn't need anything to help her breathe.

"TJ?"

She opened her eyes.

He spoke with hesitation. "TJ, did you understand what I just said?"

She nodded. _"Out," _she said again. She knew it wouldn't do any good, but she wanted him to know what she thought of taking it slow, so she communicated it the only way she could.

He shook his head a little. "I know you want it out, but you have to be patient." He looked into her eyes intently, like he was making sure he had her attention. "You have to leave the tube alone. Okay? They'll sedate you if you don't leave it alone. Do you understand?"

She nodded.

He still held her gaze. "You don't want them to sedate you. That would set you back. You don't want that, right?"

"_No," _she mouthed.

He looked at her for a moment, like he was trying to decide if she really did understand, and then he gave her a sad smile. "I've missed you, TJ."

She didn't know what to think about that. Why would he miss her if he was a preacher or a psych intern? They hadn't known each other before. She'd never seen him before in her life until she woke up in this hospital. She closed her eyes, trying to shut out everything—trying to shut him out—so she could try to fit the pieces together. How long had she been out of it because of the stroke?

For the first time, it hit her that something must have been _really_ wrong with her if she'd had a stroke as young as she was. What caused strokes? Bad cholesterol? She didn't have a heart problem, did she? She racked her brain, trying to remember what she knew about strokes. Next to nothing, that's what. Of course, her memory pretty much sucked at this point. She'd obviously forgotten a large chunk of what had happened to her.

God, what a crappy time for her world to be turned upside down, right when she'd been about to go off to college. Maybe she'd gotten really sick with some scary illness that had caused the stroke. Or maybe the stroke came on suddenly and no one had seen it coming. Maybe her secret binge eating had caused it. _That_ would be embarrassing, if everyone knew about it. The thought mortified her.

"TJ, you still awake? You okay?"

She opened her eyes to see Sam staring at her, a look of concern on his face. She could hear one of the monitors near her bed was out of its rhythm, its usual monotonous beep too fast. Must be a heart monitor, because her heart felt like it was hammering in her chest.

"_How long?"_ she mouthed.

His brow furrowed and he looked perplexed. "I'm sorry. I don't understand."

Have mercy, this was so frustrating! _"How...long," _she mouthed slowly and deliberately.

"'How long?'" he echoed with uncertainty.

She nodded.

"How long have you been here, in Kentucky?"

Well, that was a dumb question. Of course Kentucky. _"Here. Hospital," _she mouthed, trying to clarify.

His face fell, and she got the feeling she must have had this conversation with him or somebody else before. She was embarrassed and angry at the same time. How long was it going to take for her brain to start working right?

He cleared the disappointment from his face, his features neutral. "We brought you here right after the twins were released from the hospital in San Diego. That was two months ago."

What did the mysterious twins have to do with anything? Why did everyone keep talking about them? Why had they been in San Diego, and why should she care? Oh, well. She'd have to worry about that later. Holy cow. She'd been in the hospital for two months? Her heart did a nosedive into her stomach at the realization that she'd already missed almost half of the fall semester at San Diego State.

"TJ?"

She shifted her attention back to Sam and blinked. She was getting tired.

"Teej, do you remember about the twins, Robby and Sami Joy?"

She nodded. Lord, those were god-awful names—at least "Sami Joy" was. Some other kid had been stuck with the name Joy, just like her. She'd never do that to one of her own kids. She already knew what she'd name her kids someday—Madison or something sophisticated like that if it was a girl, and Jeremy, of course, if it was a boy.

Sam looked relieved that she knew about the twins and smiled like he was remembering something pleasant. "They are ready to meet their mommy," he said. "We've been telling them all about you."

She wondered why that was. What did she have to do with those babies, and why couldn't they be with their mother? It was all so strange.

"They're amazing," he went on. "They're two months old adjusted, which means that's how old they would be if they'd been carried to full term. So far, they don't seem to be that much developmentally delayed, even though they were born so early."

TJ tried to pay attention, but she was fading fast and finding it harder and harder to keep her eyes open, let alone try to comprehend something about somebody else's kids that had nothing to do with her.

He was rambling on about Robby's eyes and then something about the babies' feeding tubes and bottles, but she couldn't concentrate on what he was saying and didn't understand any of it, nor did she care. She drifted off to sleep, hoping Sam wouldn't be too mad at her for falling asleep in the middle of his conversation.

**XXXXXXXX**

"TJ?" said a raspy voice, penetrating the thick, inky darkness that TJ still found it hard to wake up from sometimes.

"Wake up, sugar." It was the raspy, smoky voice of Aunt Tru.

TJ felt hands on her, felt herself being rolled over onto her back, and then she felt pillows being adjusted around her. Aunt Tru said something to someone else in the room, maybe another nurse.

"Wake up, lazybones," Aunt Tru coaxed. "Come on, baby."

TJ swallowed and then grimaced when she felt the familiar, lumpy feeling of the annoying tube that was still in her throat. She constantly had the feeling that her throat was on the verge of swelling closed and had to remind herself that it wasn't so—or that it didn't matter, since no air got past the tube anyway. She couldn't even smell anything.

She opened her eyes and blinked, trying to get the fuzzy world around her to come into focus. When it did, Aunt Tru was leaning over her, piercing blue eyes assessing and inquisitive. Aunt Tru's hair was dyed a reddish blond, and it meshed with the swarthy, prematurely wrinkled skin of her face, making her seem almost monochromatic. Her worn appearance was due to too many years smoking and using tanning beds—and too many marriages to losers. She was in her late forties, about ten years younger than her brother Vern, but she and Vern almost looked the same age.

"Good morning, sunshine. You ready for some breakfast?" It was a rhetorical question. "Breakfast" was the liquid that was fed into TJ's feeding tube.

At least the question of when she last ate had been answered. TJ hadn't eaten real food in months. She glanced with disinterest at the bag full of brownish, thick liquid that Aunt Tru was hanging from the IV pole near TJ's bed.

"Got a big day today, sugar. Your mama and daddy and Sam are bringing the twins."

TJ raised her brows in acknowledgment. So she was going to meet the mysterious twins. Maybe she'd finally learn why everyone kept talking about them to her. It dawned on her that maybe they were Sam's kids. After all, she knew he had a wife because she'd seen his wedding ring. That would make sense. Maybe he was just proud of his twins, and since he seemed to have made friends with her family, that's why everyone talked about them so much.

Oblivious to TJ's thoughts, Aunt Tru kept talking. "And Georgia, the respiratory therapist, is gonna be here in a bit to do a spontaneous breathing trial with you this morning and start trying to wean you from the vent."

TJ raised her brows. _"Finally," _she mouthed.

Aunt Tru frowned, obviously not understanding. TJ waved her hand in a never-mind gesture, and Aunt Tru patted TJ's leg. "I'm sorry, honey. We'll see about getting a speaking valve for you so you can talk."

TJ had mixed feelings about that. She wondered how the heck a speaking valve would work and if it meant she was going to have the tube in her neck for a lot longer.

While TJ was being fed, Aunt Tru and the other nurse in the room, Annie, did the things that were part of TJ's morning routine—giving TJ a quick sponge bath, brushing her teeth and suctioning her mouth, putting on a fresh hospital gown, changing out the Foley bag that collected TJ's urine. She looked away, embarrassed. It had only been a few days ago that she'd noticed the bag. God. How had she not realized before that she couldn't get up and go to the bathroom?

It was like her brain could only take on a few new things a day, and anything more, her brain just shut down, refusing to comprehend or remember. She was getting better, though. Each time she woke up, she was more and more aware of what was going on around her, and she was staying awake for longer periods of time.

She was progressing physically, too, although she was still having trouble with coordination. She worked hard with her physical therapist. In fact, she wanted to work harder than he would let her. He reassured her that she was doing well and said that he thought most of her muscle weakness was due to disuse more than neurological damage from the stroke.

And now Aunt Tru had announced that TJ was doing a breathing trial today. TJ couldn't wait. She wanted to show them that she could do it, that she didn't need that damn tube in her throat to help her breathe.

Not only did she want to be able to talk again, but she wanted to be able to eat, too. She wanted to feel like a human again and not some lump of flesh being kept alive by tubes and wires.

Shortly after Aunt Tru and Annie finished with everything, a tall, striking woman with a head full of gorgeous long black curly hair came into TJ's room as Annie left.

"Hey, girl," Aunt Tru said to the new woman with a smile. Then she turned to TJ and pushed a button on TJ's bed, raising TJ to more of a sitting position. "TJ, hon, this is Georgia. She's the respiratory therapist that's gonna help wean you off that vent."

Georgia smiled kindly and moved closer to TJ's bed, putting a hand on TJ's arm. When she smiled, she had little crinkles at the corners of her eyes, but they didn't detract from her beauty. She had on red lipstick that contrasted nicely with her porcelain-like skin and black hair. "Hi, TJ. I know you don't know me, but I live just down the road in Colleyville. I grew up in Moss Fork, though, and I was a student of your mom's. Mrs. Nelek was one of the best teachers I ever had."

TJ gave her a polite smile. She wasn't surprised Georgia knew her mom. Just about everyone did.

Georgia looked TJ over, studying her. "TJ, can you lift your head off your pillow?

TJ did so without any problem.

"My goodness, girl. You are a miracle, aren't you?"

TJ frowned a little, not sure what she meant by that.

Aunt Tru smiled. "She's proof there's a God, isn't she? So far, Dr. Upton doesn't think the damage is as severe as they predicted it would be in San Diego. She's responsive and aware, although she's had some problems with memory, but that's to be expected."

Georgia clucked at Aunt Tru. "That's just wonderful."

What the hell were they talking about? Dr. Upton was one of the doctors that was always asking TJ a lot of questions. How bad was the damage from the stroke? Everyone kept telling her she would be okay, that she was doing great, but were they sugarcoating it?

Georgia turned back to TJ, smiling. "All right, girl. You ready to give this a try?"

Although TJ was still troubled, she nodded.

"Okay. I'm fixin' to reduce the amount of breaths per minute the machine is set on. It will still help you breathe, but you're also gonna be breathing on your own. Don't worry. You'll still get plenty of air from the tube. Okay?"

"_Okay,"_ TJ mouthed.

"I'm gonna watch your numbers closely, and if you're doing okay and not getting too tired, after a couple of hours, I might lower the settings on the machine again. We'll gradually decrease the number of breaths each day until you get to what we call CPAP. That's when you're breathing on your own, no machine breaths, but there's still a little pressure from the vent that helps to keep your lungs expanded and helps to overcome the resistance of the breathing tube."

"_How long?" _mouthed TJ.

Georgia frowned at her in consternation, a look TJ saw a lot whenever people were trying to figure out what she said. Georgia glanced to Aunt Tru for help.

"Say again, sugar," said Aunt Tru.

"_How long?"_

Aunt Tru looked at Georgia. "She's saying 'how long.' I think she wants to know how long the weaning will take." She turned to TJ. "Right, hon?"

TJ nodded.

Georgia patted TJ's arm. "Don't get impatient, sweetie. It'll take a couple of days to get you off the vent, and even longer to get the trach out of your neck."

That wasn't what TJ wanted to hear and she made a face.

Georgia gave a sympathetic chuckle. "I know you want it out, but Rome wasn't built in a day. You've been on the vent for..." She turned to Aunt Tru. "How long's it been, Tru?"

"Not quite six months."

TJ's eyes widened. Aunt Tru had to be wrong. Sam had said two months. Hadn't he? TJ was confused, but she didn't let on. She didn't want anything to interrupt the breathing trial. Besides, it wasn't like she could argue or ask questions, since she couldn't talk.

Georgia nodded, curls bouncing on her shoulders. "That's what I thought. If you've been on the vent for almost six months, your respiratory muscles will have atrophied. We have to retrain and strengthen them. Your PT will have you sitting in a chair and hopefully walking soon, and that will help exercise your respiratory muscles, too."

"What about a speaking valve, Georgia?" asked Aunt Tru.

"Oh, sure." Georgia looked at TJ. "If all goes well, we'll see about getting you one. That ought to make things a little more tolerable, oughtn't it?"

TJ nodded. She guessed the speaking valve would be better than nothing.

Georgia started reducing the amount of machine breaths like she said she would, and so far, so good. TJ felt a little lightheaded, but it quickly went away. After about twenty minutes, Georgia said, "You're doing real good, TJ. I'm gonna go check on some other patients, but don't worry. If anything goes wrong, the monitors and the vent will alert me. You okay with that?"

TJ nodded.

"All right. I'll check in directly to see how you're doin'."

A couple of hours passed, and Georgia was true to her word. After she was confident TJ was doing well, she lowered the breath setting on the machine again and went to check on other patients. Not long after she left, Vern, Fern, and Sam bustled into the room in a whirlwind of activity.

Vern looked a little like a pack mule. He had a large, bulging black diaper bag hanging on one shoulder and was carrying a baby carrier with a baby in it covered by a thin blue blanket. Sam wheeled himself into the room with a baby carrier on his lap that was identical to the carrier Vern held. The baby on Sam's lap was covered in a pink blanket.

TJ couldn't see the babies that well, just two little heads sticking out from the blankets, but she knew they were the mysterious twins everyone kept talking about.

Sam pushed himself up near TJ's bed and gave her a smile. "Hey."

She automatically wanted to say that hay was for horses but figured he'd have no clue what she said. The phrase was something her dad had teased her with all her life, but whole sentences, in her experience with people trying to read her lips, were never understood. Better to keep what she said to one or two words.

The baby in the carrier on Sam's lap was wiggling, and a little tiny fist waved in the air.

Vern squeezed TJ's blanketed foot in greeting, and Fern came over and kissed TJ on the forehead. "How you doing, sugar?"

Before TJ could respond, Aunt Tru, who had been in and out of TJ's room all morning, walked in, beaming at everyone. "TJ's doing great, y'all. She started the vent weaning this morning."

Everyone oohed and awed over that news like TJ had invented the wheel, and she had the urge to roll her eyes. She refrained, though, not wanting to hurt anyone's feelings. She guessed she was lucky she had so many people that cared about her, even strangers, if that Sam guy was any indication.

Aunt Tru peeked into the carrier that Vern was holding. "Oh," she crowed, sounding sort of manly with her smoky voice, "let's see these little angels."

Vern set the carrier on the floor, and Ferna Sue went over and undid the harness to get the little baby out. Judging by all the blue, it was a boy. He had on a cute baby-blue T-shirt with tiny little denim jeans and tiny, soft tennis shoes. He looked adorable and had a surprising amount of dark hair on his head.

"That's Robby," said Sam with a proud smile. "You can probably tell by all the blue."

TJ smiled back politely.

Fern looked at the bundle resting on her shoulder like she was in heaven. The baby bobbed his little head, trying with intermittent success to lift it from Fern's shoulder, and he made little tiny grunting noises. She kissed the top of his head, swaying a little in a soothing way, even though the baby wasn't fussing.

Aunt Tru put a palm on her face, looking rapt. "Oh, mercy. If he's not the cutest thing. Ever' time I see these little blessings, I'm amazed all over again."

"He's light as a feather, Tru," Fern said in wonder. "You wanna hold him?"

Aunt Tru gave her a skeptical eye. "You gonna give him up that easy?"

Fern indicated the baby carrier on Sam's lap and smiled. "Only 'cause I got another one over there."

Aunt Tru smiled and carefully took the boy, cradling him in her arms. "Hello, Robby," she cooed. "I think you look a little like your daddy. Yes, you do."

So Sam _was_ the twins' daddy. Why else would he be here with them? TJ hoped the poor baby that Aunt Tru was holding wasn't getting a puff of smoker's breath in his face. TJ loved her aunt, but Tru's smoking habit was pretty nasty, and everything about her smelled like smoke. Of course, it wasn't like Aunt Tru was an oddity. There were lots of smokers in the regions of Kentucky where tobacco had been the primary crop for generations. Even Vern had been a smoker until TJ came along and Fern made him quit.

Sam was still smiling. "Do you mind if I set this on the bed?" he asked TJ, indicating the carrier.

TJ shook her head and shifted her legs over a little to make more room.

"Thanks." He set the carrier on the edge of the bed and deftly unharnessed the tiny girl inside it. His hands were surprisingly nimble and graceful, considering how large they were. She wondered how tall he would be if he could stand up. His shoulders and arms hinted that he was a big guy.

He lifted the baby out and settled her in the crook of one arm, looking at her like he was in love. The baby girl looked like a tiny doll, and it was kind of sweet to see how gently Sam held her. The baby was alert, her large, dark eyes open and looking at a point on her daddy's face. She had on a ruffled pink one-piece outfit that accentuated her round, diapered bottom. There were soft, satiny little pink sandals on her feet, and TJ marveled at how tiny and perfect the baby's toes were. At first glance, it seemed the little girl didn't have as much hair as her brother, but then TJ realized it appeared that way because it was lighter. She was a blond.

"This is Sami Joy," said Sam, and then he looked up and gazed at TJ with startling, intense emotion. "She's got your eyes."

His words slammed into TJ like a bolt of lightning, turning on a switch in her brain. Memories of things people told her came flying at her with frightening velocity, and she was terrified. All the pieces started coming together, all the things she'd wondered about over the past...well, who knew how long? She still didn't have a good concept of time, but it was all starting to click.

_The wedding band on Sam's finger. _Click.

_The intimate way he'd held her hand and then kissed it._ Click.

"_They are ready to meet their mommy. We've been telling them all about you." _Click. Click.

God, how had she not seen it? It was plain as day. She was starting to feel strange, and alarms were beeping all around her bed.

_The twins being released from the hospital in San Diego. Aunt Tru talking about predictions the doctors in San Diego had made for TJ's prognosis. _Click. Click.

TJ had the cold, sinking realization that she must have gone to San Diego after all. Had the twins been born there? Had she gone to school there? For how long? She had no memory of it.

And the most damning of all the evidence... _"This is Sami Joy. She's got your eyes."_ Click, click, boom.

His name was Sam. TJ's middle name was Joy. _Sami Joy. _And Sami Joy had TJ's eyes.

There were frantic voices all around TJ, and Sam and the baby disappeared and were replaced by Georgia and Aunt Tru.

TJ's chest was hurting, her lungs burning. She felt like she was under water, holding her breath, and she'd been under for a long time. She could hear people shouting at her, but she couldn't understand what they said and didn't care. She caught sight of Sam again. He was near the foot of her bed, still holding the baby, fear and worry on his face.

TJ shut everything out and focused her graying vision on the tiny infant he held—and knew with painful, horrifying clarity that she was staring at her own daughter.

_**TBC**_


	14. Chapter 14

_**A/N: Thank you to Catsluver. What would I do without you? :)**_

**_Thanks also to those of you who reviewed as guests. Your kind words are very much appreciated!_**

**Chapter 14**

The first thing TJ became of aware of was that she could breathe again. The next thing was that she felt numb and was starting to get sleepy.

"Her heart rate's almost normal again. The sedative is kicking in." It was that pretty lady talking, the one who was weaning her from the vent. Oh, yeah. Georgia. Like the state.

"Lord, have mercy." Aunt Tru's face was suddenly in TJ's line of vision, the faint smell of Marlboro Menthol Lights familiar and mildly annoying. "What happened, girl? You scared the daylights out of us."

TJ didn't know what to say. What _had_ happened? She remembered with a strange, surreal detachment that she had pieced part of the puzzle together, that, as unthinkable and utterly impossible as it seemed, she'd solved the mystery of the twins, of why everyone kept talking to her about them. She was their mother.

How could that be? It was so far out of TJ's realm of comprehension that she was completely numbed by it. She couldn't even begin to fathom it or even be freaked out by it. She couldn't feel much of anything, except maybe curiosity.

How big of a chunk of her life was missing? Who was Sam to her?

_Your husband_, whispered her conscience.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no. She remembered the wedding band on his finger and tried to block out the image, shutting her eyes tightly.

Had they been in love? Had she dated and married a handicapped guy? What the hell? If she'd met him in San Diego, why was he in Kentucky? Maybe because her parents were helping him with the twins? Had he moved to Moss Fork because of her?

What had happened to Jeremy? Why wasn't she married to him?

A twinge of emotion, a vague jab of panic, penetrated the numbness at the thought of Jeremy. She loved him, had been in love with him her entire life. She had _given_ herself to him body and soul. How could she have fallen for someone else, let alone conceived _twins_ with someone else?

Georgia patted TJ's shoulder, her long black curls falling forward as she loomed over. "I'm not sure what went wrong, sweetie, but we had to put the vent back on the original settings. You were really struggling with your breathing. You like to 've passed out."

TJ knew that she failed the breathing test and should be disappointed by the setback, but she wasn't. She just stared at Georgia, not really seeing her—preoccupied with wondering how to get answers to her questions. She shifted her attention to the other people in the room, to her parents and Sam. They all had expressions of concern on their faces. Sam still held the baby girl, and Fern held the baby boy—_TJ's son—_who was getting fussy and sucking on his fist. Fern absently soothed him by bouncing up and down and softly shushing him.

TJ stared at the boy but felt nothing. She wondered if she was supposed to suddenly feel some kind of motherly instinct toward him—toward both of the babies. Well, she didn't. She was indifferent to both of them, these twins that everyone had gone on and on about, the little miracles. Apparently, they'd been born early—preemies.

She was mildly curious when they'd been born, but, really, she didn't care. Were they somehow the reason she'd had the stroke?

She looked at Sam, determined to get some answers. _"Who are you?" _she mouthed. Deep down, she knew the answer, but she needed to hear it, needed confirmation that Sam was really her husband.

He looked perplexed, his brow wrinkling.

She rolled her eyes in frustration. _"Who...are...you?"_ she repeated slowly.

Aunt Tru stepped out of Sam's way. He placed the baby girl on his shoulder and held her with one hand while he pushed one of his wheels the short distance closer to TJ.

"You want me to take her?" Aunt Tru asked him.

He looked up at her, seeming reluctant. TJ wondered if Sam thought the same thing about Aunt Tru's smoky smell that she did. He seemed to overcome whatever reservations he had, though, and smiled politely. "Sure. Thanks."

Aunt Tru beamed at him and gently took the baby. "Hello, sweet pea," she cooed to the baby in her raspy voice, holding the baby close to her face. The baby waved her tiny fist, bumping it against Aunt Tru's chin, and Aunt Tru grabbed the little fist and smothered it in kisses. "I'm gettin' me some sugar." She went for another round of kisses on the baby's cheek. "Yes, I am. I'm gettin' me some sugar."

TJ wondered why people always talked so silly to babies. She'd never been around babies much, but she'd been known to talk to her dog Elliott in a goofy voice. She guessed it was the same thing. Elliott was like her baby.

"TJ?" said Sam.

She looked at him.

"Do you want to try asking your question again?"

She nodded. _"Who...are...you?" _she mouthed.

His lips tightened and he glanced at Fern and Vern, who had frowns on their faces and were obviously still trying to figure out what TJ said. It was evident by the expression on Sam's face, though, that he understood. He swallowed. "Are you asking who I am, TJ?"

She nodded.

He looked worried. "You don't remember my name?"

She clenched the blanket on her bed in her fist, aggravated, and nodded emphatically. _"Sam,"_ she mouthed.

He looked relieved, but then his eyebrows knitted together. "I don't know what you mean. I'm sorry. I'm Sam, but you know that."

He was close enough that she could reach his left hand, and she grabbed it firmly. With her finger, she pointed to the gold band on his ring finger.

He peered at her cautiously. "It's my wedding band. You—you gave it to me." He looked pensive. "Do you remember the wedding, TJ? Do you remember when we got married?"

Despite the sedative she'd been given, she still felt the blow. She _had_ married this guy. She'd hoped somehow that it wasn't true, that she was wrong, but she couldn't deny it any longer. She stared at him, unable to believe it. He was attractive and seemed nice enough for what little she knew about him, but she would never love anyone as much as she loved Jeremy. What had happened with Jeremy? She started to panic, the beeps on the monitor reflecting the frantic beating of her heart, but then the sedative kicked in and a warm, soothing feeling suffused her, calming her. She closed her eyes.

"TJ, do you remember the wedding?" Sam's voice was urgent.

She opened her eyes and shook her head.

"You don't remember that I'm your husband?"

She shook her head.

He swallowed. "Do—do you remember _me_?"

Very slowly, she shook her head again.

His face blanched to an ashen color, his expression utterly stricken. His jaw was like granite and he looked away as though he was trying to control an extremely strong emotion. When his gaze traveled back to her, his eyes were filled with pain.

"God Almighty," muttered Vern, scrubbing a hand over his face.

Fern moved closer and sat on the edge of the bed, still holding the baby boy but oblivious to the increasing activity of his grunts and fist sucking. He let out a tiny squawk, but Fern just absently patted his back, her eyes fixed on TJ. "TJ, do you remember being pregnant with the twins?"

She shook her head.

Sam seemed frozen, still white as a ghost.

Aunt Tru had ceased her silly crooning to the baby girl and regarded TJ with strained worry. "What do you remember, hon? What's the last thing you remember?"

TJ laid her head back on her pillow, feeling weary. She looked around the room, taking in the various degrees of stunned horror on everyone's faces. Georgia, who had been silently observing, stood with a hand covering her mouth, a pitying look on her face. She was shaking her head slightly in alarm.

TJ had the unkind thought that all this would be old news in Moss Fork this time tomorrow, even though she didn't know whether Georgia was a gossip or not. It didn't matter. The word would still get out. Heck, even Aunt Tru wasn't exactly known for having tight lips.

This would be too juicy of a story for it not to infiltrate every nook and cranny of Tucker County. Moss Fork and the greater area of Tucker County were the kinds of places where everyone knew everyone's business, where they gossiped mercilessly behind each other's backs—yet they'd gladly give the shirts _off _their backs if there was someone in need.

Sam's quiet voice seemed to reverberate through the room, and he repeated Aunt Tru's question. "TJ, what is the last thing you remember?"

Hmm. Good question. She remembered high school graduation. She remembered getting ready to go off to college, getting all the items she would need for her dorm room, corresponding with her would-be roommate, who seemed nice enough. She remembered spending lots of summer nights hanging out with Jeremy after they got off work from Donna's Diner. She remembered kisses in the moonlight by the pond. She remembered losing her virginity. That was the last thing she remembered.

She had been on the brink of a new beginning, an exciting journey to womanhood and love and becoming an adult, of being on her own. Then she'd woken up in this bizarre world that was like living in an episode of that creepy show _The Outer Limits_. But she couldn't tell anyone that making love with Jeremy was the last thing she remembered—her dad would string Jeremy up by his toenails—so she mouthed, _"College."_

Fern looked bemused, but before she could respond, the baby boy she held started getting really fussy. Fern glanced at Vern. "Mix up a couple of them formula bottles, about four ounces each; would you, Vern? Make it two because I'm sure Sami Joy will be hungry soon, too."

Vern looked like Fern had just asked him to prepare a gourmet meal, but he didn't argue. TJ would have found his facial expression funny in other circumstances, but there wasn't much funny about this situation.

Vern pulled the diaper bag off his shoulder, set it on the floor, and started rummaging through diapers, burp cloths, and other baby paraphernalia for the items needed to make the bottles.

Satisfied that Vern was doing as told, Fern shared a look with Sam. It was clear no one had understood what TJ said. "Say again, hon," prompted Fern.

TJ had the urge to throw something, but there was nothing to throw. At this pace, it would take a month to make them understand and get answers.

Sam spoke in that same calm, even voice that somehow always seemed to command attention. "TJ, do you think you could write it down?"

She nodded, although she wasn't actually sure. Everything was so messed up. She wouldn't be surprised if she'd forgotten how to write.

By now, Vern had made the two little bottles of formula, and Aunt Tru started feeding the baby girl while Fern started feeding the baby boy. Neither woman took any joy in it. They were both staring at TJ with troubled expressions. It was like they were hardly aware of the babies.

After a few minutes, Georgia procured a pen and notepad from somewhere and handed it to TJ. The pen felt odd in TJ's hand, and she had a moment of panic that she really had forgotten how to write.

"It's okay, Teej," soothed Sam, as if sensing her fear. There was a crease between his brows that made him look both sincere and sympathetic. "Take your time. Can you tell us the last thing you remember before waking up here?"

TJ stared at the pen in her hand and flexed her fingers around it. She forced herself to try to form letters, and, to her relief, once she began, they started flowing, although her large handwriting looked like a five-year-old's.

"_Getting ready for college," _she managed to write out. She turned the pad around and showed it to Sam and Fern, feeling triumphant at her accomplishment. Her dad and Aunt Tru leaned in to get a look at what she'd written, too. Georgia had the grace to refrain from looking, although it was clear by the expression on her features that she was dying to know.

Fern frowned. "You mean getting ready to go off to San Diego State, when—when you were a freshman?"

TJ nodded, and everyone looked at each other.

Sam swallowed thickly. "TJ, can you tell us how old you are?"

She wrote _"18"_ in large numbers and showed them. Sam's jaw tightened and he looked down, but not before TJ saw the deep despair and anguish on his face. Her mother's eyes welled with tears.

Well, that wasn't a good sign. TJ started to feel a sickening glob of foreboding in the pit of her stomach. How much worse were things gonna get? Wasn't her life fucked up enough? Judging by the looks on everyone's faces, apparently not.

"What year is it, dumplin'?" Daddy asked, his face deceptively neutral.

TJ was uncertain of herself now. "_2004?" _she wrote tentatively.

If the oppressive silence that followed was any indication, that wasn't the right answer. Aunt Tru looked away, chin trembling, and everyone else just stared, obviously stunned.

Finally, Fern gave TJ a sad look, her voice heavy with emotion. "Oh, honey."

The foreboding feeling seeped from TJ's stomach into the rest of her body, chilling her to the bone. _"What year is it?" _she wrote.

No response.

She gritted her teeth, suddenly angry. Bearing down with the pen, she wrote _"YEAR?"_ with bold, awkward strokes, savagely underlining what she'd written and thrusting the pad at all of them.

Sam looked her in the eye, his mouth in a grim line. "It's 2010."

His answer enraged her and completely upended her whole world. And in that moment, she hated him and everything about him. She wanted him gone, him and his stupid twins.

They had stolen six years of her life.

**XXXXXXXX**

Dr. Upton waved a penlight into each of TJ's eyes, leaving a residue of light that burned into her retinas. She blinked, trying to get the comet tails to disappear.

The doctor drew his bushy gray eyebrows together. "Well, TJ, you're doing remarkably well. With the trauma the stroke caused to your temporal lobe and the length of time you were in the coma, I would have expected the damage to be much worse."

TJ just stared at him. What a fucking idiot.

She was missing _six_ years of her life. She had gone to bed an eighteen-year-old and woken up _old_. She would be twenty-five in a little over a month. She had lost what promised to be the best, most exciting years of her life. She was married to a stranger that she felt absolutely nothing for, except a dislike bordering on hatred, and she didn't care if that was fair to Sam or not.

Four years of her undergrad and a year and a half of grad school, gone. She couldn't even begin to fathom the ramifications of that.

She had gotten pregnant and given birth to twins. It made her want to laugh because it was so absurd. But, _no._ It was a _miracle_. If she heard someone say that one more time, she would scream. Her mother had explained that Sam never thought he would be able to father a child without fertility intervention because of his paralysis, but against all odds, they had conceived twins.

Yeah. What a fucking miracle. How did she get so lucky?

Sometimes, she wanted to die. But she sure was glad that the damage to her brain hadn't been "much worse." In her opinion, she'd be better off as a vegetable. At least that way she wouldn't know what the hell was going on around her and how much she had lost.

A few days had passed since the universe had collapsed in on her. She had a speaking valve in her trach so she could talk now, but, ironically, she had nothing to say. All she could feel was a deep, dark rage—and a fierce longing to see Jeremy.

She wanted to talk to him and find out what had happened between them. She was angry with him. How had he let this happen? How had he let her get involved with someone else to the point where she could have gotten married and pregnant?

She was angry—livid—with herself, too, for letting it happen. Why hadn't she been on the pill? Why hadn't she been more careful? She'd had her whole life mapped out, and children weren't a part of it until she was established in her career and was married for a few years to Jeremy. _To Jeremy._ Not Sam Fucking Winchester.

Her parents and Sam were there in the room, all wearing expressions of attentive concern on their faces. TJ was irritated that Sam had come. He was an intruder as far as she was concerned, but she guessed Dr. Upton's prognosis impacted him, too. At least the twins were with Aunt Tru somewhere and they didn't have them to contend with.

It was awkward for both TJ and Sam when Sam was around. It was obvious he didn't know what to say to her, and she didn't have anything to say to him. She tried to pretend he wasn't there, but it was kind of hard. He seemed to fill up the room whenever he was there.

Dr. Upton was oblivious to TJ's morose thoughts and kept talking. "You could have had hearing problems, vision problems, speech problems—the list goes on. But you seem to be recovering quite nicely."

Who was this guy? He was supposed to be some great neurologist from Lexington, but so far, TJ was not impressed with him. All he ever did was shine light in her eyes and ask her stupid questions and make stupid declarations of how great she was doing.

The doctor glanced at her parents and Sam. "Have you noticed anything other than the long-term memory loss, any changes in personality or demeanor?"

Her mother frowned. "No, not really. It's been hard to have a conversation, though, since, you know, she hadn't been able to talk."

Dr. Upton nodded.

Vern looked hopeful. "What about her memory, Doc? Will it come back?"

Dr. Upton's expression was professionally detached. "I'm sorry. No."

Well, at least he called a spade a spade.

Vern's face reddened and he looked angry. "How can you be so sure?"

Dr. Upton was unfazed. "In my experience, I've never seen anyone recover lost memory from a stroke of this severity. It's not like she got a bump on the head and everything goes back to normal once it's healed. Of course, the brain is one of the last frontiers. There's still things we don't know. She's already, as I said, retained much more of her faculties than we thought possible. Still, the possibility of her regaining the memory she has lost is pretty much nil."

Fern pressed her fingers to her lips, eyes brimming. TJ just sat there, watching and listening as if she were an indifferent observer, like they were talking about someone else. She supposed knowing she would never get her memory back should be a blow, but nothing was as shocking as the things she'd already learned. In fact, she really didn't care if she got her memory back. She didn't want to remember. She just wanted her old life back. She still had all _those_ memories, and it was something to build on. She wanted to pick up where she left off.

Her eyes involuntarily met Sam's. He was staring at her, his face unreadable except for that tick in his jaw that she'd learned meant there was restrained emotion just under the surface. His gaze made her uncomfortable, and she looked away.

Dr. Upton patted TJ's shoulder, completely ignorant of the tension in the room. "I'm confident you'll eventually be able to lead a normal life, TJ. There's no reason you can't recover from this and move on. The memory loss is a setback, certainly, but I can't say this enough. It could have been so very much worse."

TJ nodded and gave him her biggest smile. Her voice was hoarse from disuse and it always made her feel a bit breathless when she spoke because of the trach, but this time she didn't care. "Thank you, Doctor. That's great news." She was glad that he'd hammered the proverbial nail in the coffin. The last six years of her life were gone. Period. End of story. She stared defiantly at Sam. "Moving on with my life. That's _exactly_ what I plan to do."

**XXXXXXXX**

TJ was searching the web on the iPad her parents bought her as a get-well gift. She was amazed by it and how easy it was to use. Apparently, this new technology invented by Apple was taking the world by storm in the form of phones and "tablets" like the one she had. She'd found several games from the App Store that were free and downloaded them, and she searched the Internet for hours at a time, reading endless news articles, trying to catch up on everything she couldn't remember from the last six years.

She checked her email and ignored the ones from people she didn't remember. She did the same when they called her cell phone. She supposed it was rude, that these people had been her friends—really close friends, according to her mom—but they were strangers now and she didn't feel like repeating awkward conversations with them like the ones she had with Sam.

Several of the voice mails had been from Sam's brother, Dean—her brother-in-law. How bizarre that she had a brother-in-law. He sounded nice enough, expressing all the obligatory sorrow that she didn't know him from Adam and the same well wishes that all the others had given her. There had been a sadness in his voice that was disturbing, a pain that had been missing from the others, and she wondered why. Maybe it had to do with Sam, and she wondered how close Sam was to his brother.

It hit her then that her phone had a camera. Maybe she'd be able to find a picture of him. Maybe she'd find pictures of the others, too. Of course, how she was supposed to know who was who, she didn't know. It was worth a try, though.

She flipped through the pictures on her phone. There were literally hundreds of them, mostly of people she didn't know and of places she didn't remember going. There was a picture in front of a place called Shorty's that she figured must be a restaurant or something. She was in the pic, along with three other people—a gorgeous red-headed girl hugging a guy with short, dark-blond hair, and then Sam and herself in the front. She had a vague memory that she'd seen the redhead and the guy when she was waking from the coma and figured this had to be Dean. It would explain why he would have come all the way from California to see her, if he was her brother-in-law.

In the picture, Sam was in his wheelchair and TJ was in his lap. Her arms were around his neck, obvious smiles of happiness on both their faces. She looked like she was where she belonged, as if she'd never wanted to be anywhere else.

She touched the tiny version of herself in the photo and then touched her own face. The girl in the picture was someone TJ didn't recognize. She looked like her, but something was off, not quite right. TJ felt like she was seeing an older sister that she didn't know existed. The girl in the picture seemed more sophisticated, more confident, more grown up.

TJ was off the ventilator now and the trach collar had been removed yesterday. The whole weaning process had taken a little over a week. She had a bandage-like patch covering the hole in her neck, but Georgia had assured her the hole looked to be healing nicely and the patch would be gone in a day or two. She said once the hole was healed, it would hardly be noticeable.

TJ was able to eat again, and while her eyes had been bigger than her stomach at first and she wasn't able to eat very much, she was eating enough now that they would probably remove the feeding tube within a week or so. It helped her appetite that the trach was gone and she could smell food again.

She was starting to feel more human and less like she'd been plugged into the Matrix—although she wished she could ditch this reality she'd woken up to and find her old world where everything had been much simpler and made sense.

Her muscles were starting to rebound from the months of disuse. Apparently, not only had she been in a coma for six months, but her muscles had weakened considerably during the illness and the bed rest she endured before the birth of the twins.

She could make it to the bathroom now on her own and could walk short distances, although she tired easily and still slept a lot. She was making headway, though, and her physical therapist was enthusiastic about how quickly she was recovering.

The doctors said she could go home once the feeding tube was out and she was taking in enough calories on her own. She could do her PT on an outpatient basis and do most of her strengthening exercises at home. She wasn't sure that was a good thing and wasn't too gung ho to go home. Sam would be there and so would the twins. She would have to see them all the time, and the thought made her stomach tighten uncomfortably.

What was she supposed to do? Try to fall in love with Sam again—assuming she was even in love with him before? The thought was appalling. It was like being in an arranged marriage.

Then there was the issue of the twins. She didn't even feel like an adult, let alone a mother. She still felt like a teenager. Did everyone expect her to try to be a mom to two infants that she had no recollection of and no maternal feelings for? She didn't know the first thing about taking care of babies or parenting. The thought of being tied down to them for the rest of her life was terrifying and stifling.

She felt the familiar rush of panic and tried to push it all away, overwhelmed and confused. It made her blood pressure spike and her hands shake. She was beyond relieved when there was a knock at her open door and she raised her head to see Jeremy standing there.

He looked handsome in a gray business suit, very GQ, although she never in a million years would have believed he would wear a suit if she wasn't seeing it with her own two eyes. He held up a white paper bag from Dairy Queen and gave her a charming smile. "I got the okay from Aunt Tru," he said in his laid-back drawl. "You still like Heath Blizzards?"

She burst into a grin. "Well, the me from six years ago does. I don't know about the twenty-five-year-old me."

He raised his brows. "Good enough." He walked into the room, set the bag on the overbed table, and took two Blizzards out. TJ set her iPad on the table, and he handed one of the cups of thick ice cream to her, along with a red plastic spoon.

She folded her legs and sat Indian style so he would have room to sit on the bed with her, although there was a chair nearby. He got the hint and rolled the table out of the way, then sat down.

She took a bite of the Blizzard and rolled her eyes in ecstasy. The sweet, creamy ice cream treat with bits of toffee and chocolate mixed in suffused her with waves of pleasure. It was her favorite, and she was touched that he remembered. "Mercy. I don't know how long it's been since I had one of these, but it's heaven." She looked him in the eye. "Thanks, Sucks."

He was in the middle of taking a bite, and he laughed around it. Once he swallowed, he said, "You're welcome. And I never thought I'd be happy to have you callin' me Sucks, but I am."

She felt a blush coming on and looked down at her Blizzard. After savoring another bite, she looked up at him. She was glad to finally be alone with him. There were so many things she wanted to ask him, but she hadn't had the chance because her parents or Sam were always there whenever Jeremy visited before.

For the first time since she'd become aware of what was going on, she felt self-conscious about her appearance. Her hair was in a ponytail, but, as usual, half of it had fallen down, and she wondered how bad it looked. At least she was wearing some nice silk pajamas her mom had bought her instead of one of the nursing home gowns.

"So, what's with the suit?" she asked.

He gave her a slightly perplexed frown and looked down at what he was wearing, like he'd forgotten what he had on. "Oh. Goes with the job. I'm on a lunch break."

"What job?"

"I took over the bank—sort of. Ray Dean McAllister is showing me the ropes, teaching me everything my dad knew."

She froze for a moment, hardly believing her ears. "The _bank _bank? The bank that you swore you would never take over, the bank that's been in the Suggs family for three generations, the bank that was the bane of Little Jeremy Suggs' existence? That bank?"

He smirked, cynical humor in his steel-gray eyes. "That would be the one."

Her heart sank. He'd had so many dreams. He'd wanted out of Moss Fork just as badly as she did. "Why, Jeremy?"

He shrugged and looked down at his spoon, fiddling with his ice cream. "I went to college for a while, but my mom..." He hesitated and then looked up. "I guess you don't remember that my dad passed away at the beginning of my junior year at Kentucky."

She stuck her spoon in her ice cream and reached out, squeezing his arm. "God, Jeremy. I'm really sorry."

He gave her a rueful smile. "I know. You came all the way back from San Diego for the funeral."

"Oh." She hated that she didn't remember and felt frustration brewing inside her. "This is all so fuckin' weird, Jeremy—pardon my French. I feel like just a few weeks ago we were working together at Donna's."

He stared at her for a moment and then his beautiful mouth curved with dry amusement. "Yeah. That is pretty fuckin' weird."

She snorted. "So what were you gonna say about Liv?"

He sighed. "My mom didn't take my dad's death well at all. She hasn't been—well, let's just say she kind of forgets where she is sometimes."

"I know the feeling. How bad is it?"

"It's bad. We have an assistant that helps me watch out for her while I'm at the bank because I can't leave her alone. A lot of times Mama seems fine, and then something will just snap, and she thinks my dad's still alive and that I'm him."

TJ sat back against her pillow, taking that in. Jeremy's mom Liv was like an aunt to her. TJ even called her Aunt Liv, and Jeremy called her mom Aunt Fern. Liv had always been such a beautiful, vivacious, intelligent lady. She was one of her mom's best friends. TJ couldn't fathom that Liv would go off the deep end like that.

Jeremy took a bite of his ice cream, like he needed something to do in the awkward silence that had developed.

TJ felt kind of bad for asking, but there was so much she didn't know. "So, what happened to Ross?"

A flash of pain crossed Jeremy's features. "He, uh..." He cleared his throat, not looking at her. "He was killed in a tractor accident. You know how it is around here. The hills are steep. If you're not careful, it's easy to flip a tractor."

She nodded and felt a heavy, profound sadness. Everyone knew and loved Ross. He had run the local bank after inheriting it from his own father, Jeremy Ross, Sr., and was well-respected for his big heart. He'd been known to give many a farmer down on his luck a helping hand and would only foreclose on a farm when there were absolutely no other options.

The bank had been the main source of income for Jeremy's family for generations, but the Suggs farm that bordered the Nelek farm had been a source of pride for Ross. He worked it when he had time and the rest was done by hired farmhands. Still, he would sometimes spend hours on the weekends plowing with the tractor or fixing fences or doing any of the other hundreds of tasks that were required on a farm. He loved the land. It had been a part of him.

TJ felt a lump in her throat and her eyes burned.

"Aw, Nelly. Don't cry. It's been four years. It don't hurt as bad as it used to."

_Four years._ That made her cry just as much as knowing Ross was dead, and she looked away and wiped the tears from her cheek.

Jeremy put his cup on the table, and she handed hers to him to do the same. She'd only eaten half of the Blizzard, but she'd lost her appetite.

She drew in a deep breath, getting control of her tears, and studied Jeremy. He was still the same, although he'd filled out more. She remembered him as a wiry, athletic teenager, but he looked more like a man now. She could see how his mother might confuse him with his daddy. He looked just like him.

"You cut your hair," she accused mildly.

"Yep. I sold out," he drawled. "Music and runnin' a bank don't mix. I left that artsy shit behind. Got to play the part, you know?"

He sounded bitter, and who could blame him? Music had been his passion in high school. He was a gifted guitarist and could also play a banjo like nobody's business, but it was like pulling teeth to get him to do it. He said it was too country, too hillbilly, like bluegrass music. He didn't like bluegrass, purely in defiance of the expectation that a banjo player from Kentucky ought to play bluegrass. Instead, he'd always been into indie and obscure rock bands that nobody ever heard of.

"Did you major in music at Kentucky?"

"Yep." He smiled wryly. "Didn't do much to prepare me for the damn bank."

She huffed. "Well, if you don't like how things turned out, just have a stroke and lose the last six years of your life. Then you can start over."

He snorted a little laugh through his nose. "Yeah. I guess that's one way of doin' it."

They were quiet again, so many things in the air between them.

Finally, she broke the silence. "So, um, are you—you know, do you have a girlfriend?"

He gave her a mischievous look and then drawled, "Yep. I've got _lots_ of girlfriends."

She rolled her eyes. "I guess some things never change." She was relieved, though, that he wasn't in a serious relationship.

He chuckled and then looked at her intently. "So what exactly is the last thing you remember?"

She paused, wondering if she would make a fool out of herself if she told him that being with him was the last thing she remembered, that she was still in love with him. She shrugged. "I remember getting ready to go to college. I remember working with you at Donna's that summer after we graduated high school."

He was still staring at her with that penetrating gray gaze, his eyes dark and light at the same time. "Do you remember those nights at the pond drinkin' that god-awful homemade wine my Uncle Wade gave me? Hoo-wee, that stuff would've took the paint off the barn."

She gave a small laugh and looked down, playing with her fingernails. She didn't know why, but she couldn't tell him the truth, wasn't sure that she could trust him. Maybe he wasn't the same Jeremy from before, and she didn't know what had happened afterward, why they had obviously gone their separate ways. "No," she lied. "I don't remember."

He reached out and cupped her chin in his fingers, tilting it up so she would look at him. He searched her face for a long time.

Her pulse quickened. He was still so beautiful, still her Jeremy.

"I think you do remember those nights, Nelly," he said in a sultry drawl. "I know I remember."

Of course she remembered, and it was achingly frustrating that it was like yesterday to her, that all the emotions were still raw and fresh. The threat of tears made her throat narrow. "What happened, Jeremy? Those nights at the pond—I thought—I mean, things had finally changed between us. We were closer than ever. How could this have happened? How could I possibly be married to someone else? You were—" She stopped abruptly before she said something really embarrassing, like professing her love for him like an idiot.

He pulled her into a hug, and it felt so good to be in his arms, so comforting. It was her undoing, and she started to sob on his shoulder, feeling the pain, the loss, and the overwhelming confusion of everything that had happened closing in on her. She didn't want the contact with him to end, wanted to stay in his arms forever. Finally, they broke apart, and he handed her a tissue from the box on the bedside table.

She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. "Sorry. I kind of messed up your suit."

He strained his eyes to the side and looked at his shoulder. "That's all right. You can cry on my shoulder anytime." He grabbed another tissue and dabbed at the remnants of her waterworks.

She gave a faint, embarrassed laugh. Her face felt tight and swollen, and her nose was stopped up. She sniffed and wiped her nose again, then looked at him. "What happened, Jeremy? I need to know."

He pressed his lips together and made a slight grimace. "I made a huge mistake. That's what happened."

His words knocked the breath out of her and made her heart clench. There it was, the truth she'd been dreading. He regretted being with her. "Well, thanks," she said with sardonic sarcasm to hide how much it hurt. "Your brutal honesty is such a breath of fresh air."

He glanced at her with a frown on his face. "Why do you say—" His eyes widened, and he put his hand on her knee. "No, no. Nelly, you—that's not what I meant. I don't regret that night for one minute. You hear? That was the best night of my life."

"It was?" she asked, hope starting to blossom inside her.

He nodded and caressed her jaw with his fingers.

She closed her eyes, feeling a pleasant buzz from his easy touch. After a moment, she opened her eyes. "Then what was the huge mistake?"

He gave her that lopsided smile of his that she loved so much. "My mistake was ever letting you go."

_**TBC**_


	15. Chapter 15

_**A/N: Catsluver, you're an awesome beta and an awesome friend! Thank you.  
**_

_**I know some of you are wanting to know what Sam is thinking, and, thanks to Catsluver, who persuaded me that the Sam girls were starving for him, his point of view will be in the next chapter. I promise! In the meantime, I hope this chapter still holds your interest. :)  
**_

**_Thanks to all of you who have favorited, alerted, reviewed, and who tune in each week just to read. I appreciate you all so very much!_  
**

**Chapter 15**

TJ was dressed in loose jeans and a loose pink top that felt like they belonged to someone else but were supposedly hers. It didn't help that all of her "old" clothes were too big for her because she'd lost so much weight while in the hospital. Even her flip-flops were unfamiliar, like she was stepping into someone else's shoes—someone whose shoes she had no desire to fill.

Everything was all packed and she was ready to go, at least physically. Mentally, the thought of going home, of having to face the mess her life had become, was galling.

The only thing she looked forward to was the fact that she would be able to spend more time with Jeremy. They had talked or texted each other almost every day. He was the one thing that hadn't changed in the last six years—at least, not that much. He looked different, but he still had the power to make her heart beat like mad every time she saw him. He was more polished and acted more mature, but those weren't bad things. He was still her best friend, and once she figured out how to get Sam out of her life, maybe she and Jeremy could pick up where they'd left off that night at the pond.

She knew that it was wrong, that she was contemplating committing adultery, but did it count? Was it adultery if she didn't remember making the vow, if she didn't even remember the wedding or the husband?

She thought about what it must be like for Sam. Did he feel the same way about her as she felt about Jeremy? It seemed so odd to her, the possibility that a stranger might have such strong, potent feelings for her when she felt absolutely nothing in return. She couldn't imagine how painful that must be for him if that were the case, but what was she supposed to do about it? She couldn't help that she'd had the stroke, that any memory of him had been erased. Still, she felt a twinge of guilt, and the intense dislike she'd felt toward him at first was fading into a wary curiosity.

Sam seemed like a nice enough guy, but she didn't know him, and she loved Jeremy. Jeremy was the one that made her laugh, that made her feel normal. She could be herself around him and didn't see hints of sorrow or disappointment on his face every time he looked at her, the way she did from her parents and Sam and even sometimes Aunt Tru.

She still hadn't gotten the whole story from Jeremy about why their relationship never went anywhere all those years ago. He was always vague about it and changed the subject. She knew deep down that she should care, that she should push him for answers, but she didn't. Things were good between them right now, and she was willing to let it go for the time being. Whatever had happened between them was in the past—the past that she couldn't remember.

She told herself there had to be some rhyme or reason for the chaos and pain that losing her memory had caused. There had to be some meaning to it—and maybe Jeremy was the reason. Maybe it had all happened so that the two of them could have a second chance.

She had a cardboard box full of cards, flowers, and get-well gifts, and she swept her eyes around the room to make sure she wasn't forgetting anything. Then she zipped her suitcase and went into the bathroom to make sure she'd packed all her toiletries. When she came out, Sam was near the bed sitting in his wheelchair as if he'd appeared out of thin air. He was preoccupied with his phone, and she didn't make a sound because she wanted to study him unobserved for a second. She tried to see what she might have seen in San Diego, what might have drawn her to him—what might have made her fall in love with him.

He was good-looking, no doubt about that. Oh, who was she kidding? He was _really_ hot. The wheelchair kind of threw her for a loop, but he actually looked kind of cool in it. His wheelchair wasn't like the clunky chairs around the nursing home. It was...stylish, if you could say that about a wheelchair.

He fit in it perfectly, his posture balanced, his shoulders strong and broad above the low backrest, his legs neatly symmetrical. He wore black sneakers, and his feet were tucked back closer to the chair and placed evenly on the solid, flat, metal footrest. His jeans were loose and his legs were a bit too thin, but, otherwise, there didn't seem to be too much wrong with him, other than the obvious fact that he was sitting in a wheelchair. In fact, he was astonishingly muscular, and his arm and chest muscles bulged under the red-and-gray-striped shirt he wore.

How long had he been paralyzed? Obviously, his "plumbing" was working because he'd fathered the twins, but her mom said it was a miracle. What did that mean, exactly? Lord, what an awkward conversation that would be. She would have to research paraplegics on Google and see what she could find out because she knew absolutely nothing about them except for what little her mother told her about Sam, which mostly had to do with what a great guy he was and how much TJ had supposedly loved him. It was too embarrassing to ask anyone about intimate details, and she hated being in the dark. She didn't know how much everyone around her knew and what was okay to ask and what wasn't.

He glanced up from his phone. "Hey," he said with a quick flash of a smile and stuffed his phone in his pocket. His smile didn't reach his eyes and was the one that he used whenever he was around her, whenever it was obvious he didn't know what to say, like he wasn't sure how she would react to him.

"Hi," she replied, walking toward the bed. He had to look up at her as she got closer, and it made her feel self-conscious about her height. She slumped her shoulders a little, glad that her mom wasn't there to poke her in the back and tell her to straighten her posture. "So, um, where are my parents?"

"They stayed home with the twins."

"Oh." There was an awkward pause. She didn't want to be rude, but she was wondering how he got there. "Um, how did you—I mean, are _you _taking me home?"

His mouth quirked for a second, causing a flicker of dimples, and when he spoke, his voice was deep and quiet. "I drove, TJ. And, yes, I'm taking you home."

"Oh." She was disappointed her parents hadn't come. She hadn't been alone with Sam since the day everyone had realized a big chunk of her life was missing—at least, not alone with him when she wasn't pretending to be asleep. She felt uneasy around him, but she pasted a polite smile on her face, trying to act like being alone with him was no big deal. "Um, well, that's good—I mean, you know, it's good that you can drive. That's great."

His features were unreadable, except for a faint tightness to his mouth that, again, caused a flash of shallow dimples. It was hard to tell if he was amused or annoyed with her. Maybe she shouldn't have made the driving comment. God, she was always saying the wrong thing, even in the best of situations, and she'd never been around a handicapped person before—not someone like Sam. She didn't know how to talk to him. She felt like everything she said might offend him.

He turned to the baggage on the bed. "So, which is the heaviest?"

She frowned. "Probably my suitcase. Why?"

"So I can carry it for you."

"Oh."

Well, at least he was chivalrous. She handed him the suitcase, and he settled it on his lap.

"Give me the small bag, too," he directed, "and all you have to get is the box."

She handed him the small toiletry bag, which he stacked on top of the suitcase.

"Wow," she said a little too cheerfully, slinging her purse over her shoulder. "Who needs a luggage cart when you're around, right?"

He gave her a look, but it was hard to read the emotion behind it.

She was embarrassed. "Sorry. Was that not—I mean, was that insensitive? I didn't mean to offend you. I just—I've never known anyone, you know, like you before."

He smiled, but it was tinged with that sadness that irritated her, like she'd just inadvertently brought up something that she should remember and reminded him of how tragic it was that she couldn't.

"Yeah, I know," he said. "It's okay. You didn't offend me."

She let out a long breath, dreading the day ahead, and grabbed the box. "Let's go, then."

She walked in the hall a little behind him and watched as he pushed his wheels. He was graceful in the way he moved and confident, like his chair was a second skin. When they reached the main lobby of the skilled nursing facility, otherwise known as the old folks' home, she was touched to see several of the nurses waiting to bid her goodbye. Aunt Tru was there, of course, and there was a cake sitting on the reception counter.

TJ set her box down and Aunt Tru gave her a hug.

Aunt Tru's eyes were moist. "We just wanted to give you a little send-off, hon. Most folks didn't think we'd ever see this day—you know, you walkin' out of here."

TJ nodded and grimaced out a smile. She was sick of hearing about what a miracle she was and how much of a miracle the babies were and what a miracle it was that she had even gotten pregnant. Miracles, miracles, miracles.

How was it a miracle that six years of her life were missing? It was true that things could be worse—much worse—but that didn't mean everything was all roses now. She was still brain damaged, and her life had been shattered. Her gaze traveled over the almost reverent faces of Aunt Tru and the others. She gritted her teeth and pasted a smile on her face, not wanting to cause hurt feelings. "Y'all just wanted an excuse to eat cake."

"Busted," said Aunt Tru with a laugh.

Everyone chuckled except Sam, who had a vague, polite smile on his face and was watching TJ intently. She hated it when he did that. It was like he was watching for something or trying to figure something out, trying to see inside her head.

TJ didn't want any cake and neither did Sam, so she said a proper goodbye to everyone and gave hugs all around. To her surprise, everyone seemed just as interested in Sam as they were her, each giving him hugs and saying they were so happy for him that he was finally taking her home. Aunt Tru was the last, and she leaned down and took his face in her hands.

Sam's shoulders tensed, but he endured Aunt Tru's invasion of personal space and smoker's breath with stoic politeness.

"I know you'll take good care of our girl, Sam," said Aunt Tru in her raspy voice. "She's so lucky to have you."

He smiled, and Aunt Tru took him into a tight hug. TJ was a little annoyed and embarrassed by her aunt's emotional goodbye to this guy that TJ hardly knew. Apparently, Sam had thoroughly charmed her rough-around-the-edges aunt.

After the farewells were done, TJ and Sam headed to the car. _Her_ car. As they walked up to it in the parking lot, she got a tight, bad feeling in her stomach. It should have been almost new, but it looked like it had seen better days. It was just two years old when her parents had given it to her as a high school graduation gift, hardly a scratch on the teal-colored exterior, but she could see a large scrape on the back bumper and several door dings on it now.

She looked at Sam, suddenly angry, like the car's condition was his fault—and for all she knew, it was. The fact that the car was eight years old now didn't matter.

He frowned. "What?"

She just looked at him.

"TJ, is something wrong?"

"No," she said, grinding her teeth. "Everything's just fine." She stalked around to the back. "Open the trunk, please."

He gave her a bemused look and then fished the keys out of his pocket, pushing the button on the remote that popped the trunk. She set the box in, and he wheeled himself over and heaved her suitcase and toiletry bag in next to the box. She slammed the trunk lid and held out her hand for the keys.

He stared at her hand, obviously not comprehending what she wanted.

She tried to keep the anger from her voice. "Hand over the keys, please."

"TJ—"

"It's my car. I want to drive it."

His expression was wary.

"I still remember how to drive," she said testily, although she wasn't a hundred percent sure that she did. So far, though, in all the tests the neurologist had done on her, it seemed her ability to perform most everyday, mundane tasks hadn't been affected by her memory loss. Well, except for a few things—strange things—like forgetting how to button her clothes.

"TJ—"

"Just give them to me."

He eyed her for a minute and then plopped the keys into her hand. "Fine."

He stiffly wheeled himself around to the passenger side of the car, and she opened her door and slid into the driver's seat. She was a tall girl, but she had to push the button to move the seat forward. Sam had it pushed as far back as it would go.

She was distracted when he opened the passenger door, wondering how he would get into the car. There was no one around to help him.

He pushed the button to make the seat slide back as far as it would go, and then he scooted himself forward a bit on the seat of his wheelchair. Next, he put his leg in the car, foot on the floorboard. After that, he fisted his hand and pressed it down on the car seat while, at the same time, he used the frame of his chair as leverage for his other hand. In one swift motion, powerful arm muscles taut and defined, he pressed down and shifted his butt to the car seat.

It surprised her that he did it so swiftly and efficiently. He definitely didn't need any help—that was for sure—and she was grudgingly impressed with his upper-body strength and agility. She'd never thought much about how people in wheelchairs did things. She thought they all had to have special vans to travel around, that they never got out of their wheelchairs once the were in it for the day.

Once he was in the seat, one leg still outside, he started taking the wheels and seat cushion off his chair. Again, she was surprised. She'd never seen a wheelchair like his before—not that she'd spent a lot of time studying wheelchairs. Apparently, his didn't fold.

He put his wheels in the backseat, and as her eyes followed his motions, she saw two odd-looking hard plastic things anchored to the backseat, one on each side.

"What are those?" she asked cautiously.

"Oh. Those are the bases for the twins' car seats. We got the kind that you can snap the carrier on and off the base instead of the kind that's stationary. It makes things a lot easier, especially when the twins are asleep—and they nearly always fall asleep in the car. It's the best lullaby there is."

She closed her eyes for a second, trying not to let that get to her. He had turned her car into a family mobile. Her car was like a soccer mom's car.

He paused for a moment and looked like he wanted to say something, but then he exhaled and turned away, reaching for the frame of his wheelchair, which was still outside the car. He had moved his seat as far back as it would go, but when he pulled the frame of the chair across his body, it bumped the dash, making a little scratch.

She pressed her lips together, annoyed.

"I'm sorry."

"It's...okay," she ground out. She knew she didn't sound very sincere.

His jaw squared and his brows came together. Obviously, he felt bad, and the look on his face made her soften a little. He had puppy-dog eyes that would melt the hardest of hearts.

What was wrong with her? The guy was handicapped. It wasn't like he could help that he had to have the wheelchair, and she knew he didn't scratch the dash on purpose. She was about to reassure him, when she looked down and noticed a weird contraption attached to the steering wheel, gas, and brake pedals.

Sam cleared his throat. "They're portable hand controls so I can drive. Don't worry. They're not permanent. Just ignore them. You can still drive the car and use the pedals like you normally would."

She didn't say anything. She felt like the three bears from the Goldilocks story. Someone had been driving her car, putting strange contraptions in it, and turning it into Carol Brady's dream vehicle.

"I have a car, but it's in the shop," explained Sam. "That's why I drove yours. My car is a two-door and it's harder to access the backseat with the twins, so I put the car seat bases in yours."

She nodded disinterestedly and put the keys in the ignition, not wanting to continue the conversation. After a few minutes had passed and it appeared she did still remember how to drive—and even remembered where she was going—she began to relax. She felt like she'd been transported to an alternate universe as her hometown whizzed by. It was the same, but it wasn't. Some things that had always been there, like the Tastee Freeze, were still there, but the "castle," an old, dilapidated mansion that had been on Main Street forever, was gone. She wondered what had happened to it and felt a twinge of sadness that the piece of history was lost.

She didn't want to dwell on it and cast a look at Sam, drumming up the courage to ask him some questions. "So, um, how did we meet?"

He smiled a little, showing his dimples. "You used to be a waitress at a place called Shorty's in San Diego."

"Oh, yeah," she said. She turned her attention back to the road, remembering the photo she had seen with herself and the others in front of the place. She could feel his eyes on her and glanced at him.

He was regarding her strangely, almost hopefully. "Do you remember it?" he asked.

"What?"

"You sounded like the name might be familiar."

"Oh." She almost rolled her eyes. "No. I saw a picture of it on my phone."

He seemed to deflate. "Oh."

"So...what?" she prompted. "We saw each other across a crowded room and fell madly in love?"

He flashed another small, tentative smile. "Uh, no. Well, it might have been that way on your side of it," he teased.

She arched a brow at his cockiness, secretly amused by it despite herself. "Ha. Funny."

His smile widened. "You scared off a girl that had sort of camped out uninvited in my booth."

"I did?"

"Yeah. I was glad you did."

She didn't say anything, trying to picture herself doing that.

"We started out as friends," he continued. "You worked with Dean—you know, my brother—and I happened to be at Shorty's one night when you mentioned that you needed a Latin tutor. He sort of made sure that I was the tutor."

Latin?

_Lecturum te ad 5:00_.

The phrase suddenly popped into her head. Where had that come from? Even weirder, she knew what it meant—_Picking you up at 5:00_. What the hell? Her pulse quickened.

"You okay?" He was frowning, forehead wrinkled.

She drew in a breath and focused on the road. "Yeah. I'm fine." They had left Moss Fork and were now on the outskirts of town, not far from the farm. "So, you sound like you didn't want to do it—you know, the tutoring."

"I didn't. I was..." He looked down. "It was a difficult time in my life. I wasn't feeling too sociable."

She wondered what he meant. Was that when he had gotten hurt?

He answered her question like he knew what she was thinking. "It was about a year after my injury—my spinal cord injury. I wasn't dealing with it too well. I was depressed, and then I hurt my shoulder and had to have surgery on it." He paused to look at her. "I use my arms for everything. The shoulder injury was devastating, made me pretty much helpless for a while. It was...frustrating, to say the least. Sometimes it was humiliating." His tone grew jaded. "And that was just the beginning."

What did he mean by that? Every question he answered raised another question. "The beginning of what?"

He looked at her for a long moment. "Let's just say I had a demon to fight." He kept staring at her like he was weighing the effect his words had on her.

It was a strange thing to say. "You mean you had to learn to deal with your handicap?"

He sighed and leaned his head back against the headrest. "Yeah. Something like that."

"So, what happened? I mean, I guess you ended up tutoring me eventually, right?"

The corners of his mouth curved upward and his dimples appeared again. "Yeah. You wouldn't take no for an answer."

She studied him for a second before training her eyes back on the road, unsure if he was serious. She could be tactless sometimes, but she couldn't imagine imposing on someone like that, especially someone who was handicapped.

"You came to my apartment one day because Dean lied and told you that I had changed my mind, that I wanted to help you." He shook his head slightly. "I was so pissed at him at the time for doing that, but it was one of the best things he ever did for me."

That made her feel flushed for some reason, which annoyed her, and she focused her attention on the road like she was the safest driver in the world.

He didn't say anything and she thought he was finished, but then he started talking again. "It wasn't you. I mean, I _wanted_ to tutor you, but, like I said, there were other issues at play."

She tried to picture it, him as the teacher and her as the student. She found it hard to believe she had even needed a tutor. She'd always been a straight-A student. She'd never needed a tutor for anything in her life. Of course, she couldn't see herself taking Latin voluntarily, either. It sounded like it would be horribly boring. Still, she could think of worse fates than having Sam as a tutor. It left her with a funny feeling inside. She kept up her diligence as a driver, not looking at him.

"We became really close friends," he said, a hint of wistfulness in his voice, "and things grew from there."

She didn't comment, didn't know what to say, and was relieved when she sighted the driveway to the farm. They pulled up to the farmhouse, an old one-story, clapboard house where her grandparents and great grandparents had lived long before she was born. Her heart clenched at the sight. Even _this_ was different. The pink color that she remembered of the house was a different shade of pink, darker now, like someone had thrown up Pepto-Bismol all over it. Her mother really had horrible taste. At least the trim was still white. When TJ was in high school, Fern had threatened at one time to paint it purple or gray.

There was a wooden ramp off to one side that was the same hideous color as the house. It led up to the side of the porch where a portion of the railing had been removed, obviously so Sam could make it around the steps leading to the front door.

Her dad's black Tahoe was in the driveway along with a couple of other cars. She didn't recognize any of them except for an old, beat-up red Ford pickup that brought a smile to her face. It meant that either Jeremy or Liv was there, or maybe both of them. That old thing had been a part of the Suggs farm since before TJ and Jeremy were born.

She put her hand on the handle of the car door to open it when she felt a firm grip on her wrist.

"TJ?" Sam's deep, slightly husky voice was quiet and strong, even when all he said was her name.

There was no ignoring it, and she froze.

"I know this is...hard for you. It's hard for all of us. I just want you to know that you can ask me anything. I'm sure you must have a lot of questions."

Lord, she had so many questions her head ached with them sometimes.

"I just want you to know that we loved each other very much, and I still love you—more than you'll ever know." He looked so earnest, so sincere. "I'll never stop loving you."

His words touched some part of her soul she didn't want touched, and her stomach twisted into a knot. "I—I'm sorry, but you're a complete stranger to me."

"Then give me a chance. Get to know me again."

That was the last thing she wanted. She wanted her old life back, as much of it as she could get back, anyway. She wasn't ready for marriage, and she sure as hell wasn't ready to be a mother. She didn't know what she was going to do, but she did know that Sam Winchester wasn't a part of her plans. She extricated her wrist from his grasp, feeling a little shaky. "I, um...I need to get out." She opened the door and slammed it shut before he could say anything more.

As she was about to get her bags out of the trunk and Sam was putting his wheelchair together, the front door of the house opened and her parents came spilling out, along with Jeremy, Aunt Joyce, and Uncle Joe Mack. Her mom was holding the girl twin, who was dressed in a pink onesie, and Aunt Joyce was holding the boy, who was dressed in a blue one.

Aunt Joyce, who was Fern's younger sister by two years, looked almost the same as she always did—a slightly taller replica of Fern. TJ's heart sank when she saw Uncle Joe Mack, Aunt Joyce's husband. TJ knew the look, the gaunt, pasty pallor, the bald head that wasn't natural. All were signs of the lung cancer that claimed so many lives in tobacco country.

Uncle Joe Mack had been a huge horse of a man, had seemed indestructible. He was her favorite uncle and never failed to bring her candy when she was a kid whenever he came to visit. He always brought the good kind of candy, too, something that usually involved chocolate. He and Aunt Joyce had four kids, all grown and out of the house. They lived in the next town over, which was about twenty-five miles away.

Vern came out, hugged TJ, and then started grabbing her bags. Uncle Joe Mack ambled slowly over and enveloped her in a skeletal embrace. "Hey there, Speed Bump. It's good to see you, kid."

"Hey, Uncle Joe."

He pulled back a little and his deep brown eyes traveled over her. "You're lookin' good, 'cept you need to get some meat on them bones. We came to visit you in the hospital, but you was pretty out of it. We would've come more, but as you can see, I've had a few bouts with the hospital myself."

She nodded, unsure of what to say, and her eyes welled up. _Yeah, Uncle Joe. I can see that you're dying._

If Uncle Joe sensed her emotion, he didn't acknowledge it, and he didn't elaborate on his condition—a bad sign. There were no words of reassurance to offer hope. All he said was, "We was sure worried about you for a while there, girl."

She held up a hand. "Let me guess. I'm a walking miracle."

He eyed her narrowly for a second and then wheezed out a laugh, which turned into a cough. He smiled through the cough like he was used to it until he was able to speak. "I take it you're sick a hearin' that?"

She smiled a little. "Yeah. You could say that."

"Well, it's true, darlin'. Them doctors said you was gonna end up not knowing whether to scratch your watch or wind your butt."

TJ laughed, but Aunt Joyce looked horrified. "Lawsy, Joe Mack. I can't believe you just said that!"

Uncle Joe gave her an innocent look. "Why not?"

"Because brain damage ain't nothing to joke about. That's why!"

Uncle Joe looked like he had a retort, but Vern, whose hands were full of bags, spoke up. "Shut it, y'all. TJ don't need y'all gettin' into an argument three seconds after she gets out of the car. At least wait until she gets into the house. It's hotter than hell out here."

He was right. The temperature was in the upper 80's, but the humidity made it seem hotter. For the first time, it really sank in with TJ that it was summer. The summer was half gone, actually. It was the second week of July. Time kept slipping through her fingers.

Sam, who was in his wheelchair now and had rolled around to the back of the car, spoke to Vern. "I can take the box." He grabbed the side of the box and slid it toward him, about to lift it out of the trunk with one hand, his other gripping one of his wheels.

Jeremy came over and took the box out for him. "I got it," he said with a polite smile and a nod, carrying the box in both arms.

For some reason, that didn't sit well with Sam. He was quiet, mouth tight, but didn't say anything. Still holding a wheel of his chair with one hand, he reached a long arm out, shutting the lid of the trunk.

TJ was distracted from the scene when Aunt Joyce gave her a one-sided hug, since she held the baby boy on her shoulder. "Welcome home, sugar doll."

"Thanks, Aunt Joyce." TJ inhaled the scent of her aunt—_Pleasures_ perfume by Estee Lauder that Aunt Joyce had worn for years—and it made TJ feel like she'd really come home. It was a familiar smell from the life she remembered, the life she might be able to get back.

After a moment, TJ made a move to break free, but she felt a sharp tug on a loose strand of her hair that had fallen out of its ponytail. "Ouch." She saw that the baby boy's hand was gripping her hair.

The baby made a little grunting noise and focused dusky blue eyes on her that promised to change color. His head bobbled and then, suddenly, he smiled a gummy smile at her, a dimple appearing in each little chubby cheek.

TJ didn't think anything of it, except that the baby's smile was adorable, and tried to extricate her hair from his grasp. He held on surprisingly tight, and his eyes were still staring at her face, like he didn't have a clue that he was about to rip her hair out from the roots.

She laughed. "Let go of me, you little rascal." She wriggled her finger into his grasp, easing her hair out of his hand as she did so. She waved her finger around, but he wouldn't let go. He'd stopped smiling, but he still seemed mesmerized by her face.

TJ had been unaware of what was going on around her, enchanted by the baby, but when she looked up, the smile on her face dissolved. Everyone was staring at her as if they'd been frozen in some bizarre game of freeze tag. Her eyes traveled from one person to the next, wondering what on earth had gotten into them.

Sam's expression was unreadable, but his voice was heavy with emotion when he spoke. "That's the first time he's ever smiled."

TJ was dumbfounded and turned her attention to the infant, who still held her finger prisoner. He smiled again—his daddy's dimpled smile—and it was disconcerting and made her insides churn. She wrenched her finger out of his grip and turned abruptly away from him. He immediately started to cry.

"Shhh," comforted Aunt Joyce. "It's okay, baby boy."

"Hold him, TJ," prodded Fern. "He wants you."

TJ had the sudden urge to run. "I—I..." She couldn't think of a good excuse.

Jeremy put the box down and stepped forward, putting his arm around her. "You feelin' okay, Nelly? You're looking kindly tired."

Jeremy was coming to her rescue, and TJ was beyond grateful. "Yeah. I think I need to go inside and sit down."

Fern's mouth pursed in disapproval, but she didn't say anything. Everyone else had frowns on their faces, and the baby kept wailing inconsolably, his little face beet-red and his hands in angry fists, small legs rigid.

A muscle twitched in Sam's jaw, and his shoulders were stiff. His eyes were on TJ, but he spoke to Aunt Joyce. "I'll take him." Then he turned his attention to Aunt Joyce and lifted his arms toward the baby.

Aunt Joyce handed Sam the baby, and Sam kissed him on the cheek and then turned him on his side so that the baby's cheek rested on Sam's arm. Sam gently jostled him and shushed loudly yet soothingly in the baby's ear. It was like a magic trick. The baby settled quickly, his eyes wide and glazed as if hypnotized.

Vern whistled. "If that don't beat all. Ever' time Sam does that, I'm amazed."

Aunt Joyce put a hand on her cheek. "I'll swan. I don't believe I've ever seen that before."

Fern smiled. "It's the method from that _Happiest Baby on the Block_ video. Sam's real good at it, but Vern and me haven't quite got it down yet. We just cave and give them babies whatever they want."

Everyone chuckled except TJ. She just wanted to get away from everything—from the babies, from sick and dying Uncle Joe, from Sam. The only thing keeping her from bolting was Jeremy's steady arm around her shoulders.

When the baby was calm, Sam rested him on his shoulder and patted his back with a large hand. The baby looked so tiny, but Sam handled him gently, his hands deft and sure.

"All righty, then," said Vern. "Let's all go in and have a glass of sweet tea."

"Sounds good to me," said Aunt Joyce. "I'm about to wilt in this heat." She looked at Sam. "You want me to take him, hon—if he'll have me—so you can wheel?"

Sam nodded and then handed the baby over to Aunt Joyce when she held out her arms. The baby made a small cry of protest, but he seemed in a daze now, on the verge of sleep, and quickly quieted once he was nestled on Aunt Joyce's shoulder.

Everyone started to head toward the house, Fern and Aunt Joyce in the lead with the twins. Vern carried TJ's suitcase and toiletry bag, but she remembered the box of get-well gifts and glanced back to the car. The box was still sitting on the ground where Jeremy had left it.

Uncle Joe Mack bent down slowly and reached out weak, shaky arms to grab the box. TJ was about to turn back and offer to get the box herself when she saw Sam place a hand on Uncle Joe Mack's arm.

"You want me to get that?" He spoke so quietly no one would have heard if they weren't paying attention.

Uncle Joe's smile was sad and a little sheepish. "Yeah. I guess you better. I ain't too steady on my feet these days."

"Yeah. Me either."

Uncle Joe Mack wheezed out a cough-laugh and clapped Sam on the shoulder. Sam gripped a wheel with one hand and then leaned over and grabbed the top edge of the box with the other. TJ wondered why he didn't just grab it with both hands, but whatever the reason, he heaved it onto his lap and started pushing himself toward the house, followed by Joe Mack.

She watched Sam push his chair on just its back wheels over the rough gravel of the driveway and then on the grass, heading toward the ramp, muscles bulging in his arms. She was impressed with his sense of balance. She never would have thought he could go so far on just his back wheels, but he did it with no problem, even with the bulky box on his lap.

"You okay?" Jeremy murmured into her ear.

"Yeah. Thanks."

He tightened his arm around her, and she soaked in the smell of him—aftershave and the scent of his freshly-laundered, plain white T-shirt. He was wearing an old, worn pair of jeans that hung low on his hips, and he looked beyond hot.

He was shorter than she was but only by an inch or so. He seemed larger than life, and she felt safe and protected with his arm wrapped around her shoulders. She loved him just as much as she always had, if not more. Her feelings were so strong that she didn't see how Jeremy couldn't feel the same way. And, so far, judging by the things he'd said and the way he was acting toward her, maybe he did. She could hope, anyway.

When Fern opened the front door, a goofy-looking dog with short floppy ears and what looked like a tan-colored beard came bounding out. Fern laughed. "Well, hello, Rocket. Did we forget about you?"

The dog, Rocket, gave everyone a sniff, tail wagging furiously, and those with free hands gave him a pat on the head. Sam was in the process of pushing himself up the ramp, and the dog waited patiently until Sam reached the front porch. Then he reared up on his hind legs, front paws on Sam's wheel, and Sam rewarded him with a rub between his ears and a scratch on his chest.

TJ couldn't believe that her dad allowed Rocket inside the house. Vern had never been one for house dogs. He thought dogs should be outside roaming free on the farm, unless they got into mischief and started killing chickens or other animals. Then they got relegated to the dog pin in the backyard. She wondered where Elliott was and hoped he hadn't met such a fate. He was such a gentle dog, a gorgeous Black and Tan Coonhound. She couldn't imagine him hurting a fly, but something wasn't right. Elliott would have come to greet her if he were able.

TJ and Jeremy were standing at the bottom of the steps. "Hey, y'all?" said TJ, talking to her parents. "Where's Elliott?"

The looks on both of her parents' faces were suddenly so sorrowful that TJ felt a sickening dread. Again, everyone just stared at her, oozing pity.

Rocket's ears pricked at the sound of TJ's voice, and he looked at her. In the next instant, he leaped over the railing and off the porch. His paws thunked TJ hard in the chest, and then he landed on the ground with surprising grace. He reared up on his hind legs, tail wagging so much it shook his whole body, ears back.

Although TJ loved dogs, she knew something was terribly wrong, and she was irritated that this interloper had all but attacked her just now. She rubbed her sternum where it still hurt from Rocket's exuberant assault and ignored the obvious fact that he was begging for her to pet him. She locked her gaze on Fern. "Where is Elliott, Mama?"

Fern shook her head, the look of sorrow still on her face.

TJ shifted her eyes to Vern, whose lips were pressed together in a grim line.

"Daddy?"

"He, uh..." His voice was weak, and he cleared his throat. "He, uh, passed away, dumplin', while you were, you know, in the coma."

Rocket chose that inopportune time to jump up to almost eye level with TJ. She might have been amazed at how high he could jump from a dead stop, but she was reeling from what her dad just told her, unable to really comprehend it. That couldn't be true. He didn't just say that Elliott was dead.

Rocket's paws were now on her leg again, and she kneed him none too gently in the chest, causing him to tumble backwards.

"Get away from me," TJ spat with venom.

Rocket recovered and sat with his head tilted like he was bewildered, while everyone, again, stared at her.

"Rocket, come," Sam commanded, his strong voice snapping in the air. Rocket did as he was told, and, incredibly, leaped up onto the ledge of the railing and then onto the porch in what appeared to be one easy, fluid motion.

Jeremy hugged her tight. "TJ..."

She shook him off, not wanting to be touched by anyone, not even him. He raised his hands in a placating gesture.

She stared at them all, filled with an abrupt rage. It was like she was in some bad movie that would never end. Her dog that had been her baby since she was fifteen had died while she was in a coma. _A fucking coma._ Who in real life ever ended up in comas? That was something that happened to other people or on TV. And who in real life ended up with amnesia? It was insane.

When she spoke, her voice was hard but even. "How? What happened to him?"

"He just got old, dumplin'. He went missing for a few days, and you know that wasn't like Elliott, so I went a lookin'. I found him under the barn. He just went off and died like some old dogs do."

TJ felt the breath getting sucked from her lungs, and her eyes blurred. "But he was only three years old."

Fern tilted her head to the side, a watery, sympathetic look on her features. "No, baby. He was almost ten. He had a nice, long, happy life for a hound."

TJ began to cry, the pain of it all overwhelming. "No," she said, shaking her head. Again, Jeremy tried to put a consoling arm around her shoulders, but she pushed him away. "No, no, no, no, no." She was racked with sobs.

The girl twin that Fern held made a little cry and then TJ heard Rocket, who was next to Sam, whimper. She turned to see Sam staring at her, brows drawn, concern clearly on his face.

She couldn't stand his scrutiny, couldn't stand the way they were all looking at her. "Stop it! Stop staring at me!" she screamed, and then turned and ran, feeling their eyes boring into her back.

_**TBC**_


	16. Chapter 16

**_A/N: Just to let you guys know, Sam will be doing things that you might not think someone with his injury could do in the next few chapters. I just want you skeptics out there to know that while I do use poetic license occasionally, where Sam is concerned, I try to portray his paraplegia and how he deals with it as accurately as I can (demon blood not withstanding). Almost everything he does I've either read about a real-life person with an injury similar to his doing or seen them doing in videos-even the yoga stuff. I'm not making up what he is capable of doing._**

**_Thank you to those who reviewed as guests for your confidence-boosting comments. I can't reply personally, but please know that your reviews are like gold to me. The rest of you already know you're awesome. :)_**

**_Thank you Catsluver for pushing me to write the scene with Sam and Jeremy in this chapter, and thank you sallyloveslinus for your suggestions and finding the little things. Any mistakes after I post are my own._**

**Chapter 16**

TJ wanted to run forever and never stop. She wanted to be free of all the stares, of all the pain—of feeling like she was a freak. Unfortunately, reality set in quickly, and her lungs burned. She made it as far as the barn, which wasn't very far from the house at all. By the time she got there, she was seeing stars and had tunnel vision, dangerously close to passing out. Her atrophied body was still recovering from months of being bedridden, and it wasn't up for a run. It probably wasn't even up for a walk.

She made it to the huge sliding doors of the barn and leaned against one of them, facing it with her palms against it. She heard a faint rattle as the door reacted to her weight. Slowly, she turned around to where her back was to the door and then slid down it to the ground. She literally couldn't move a muscle. Her legs were like Jell-O, and her lungs were still heaving, trying to refill with enough air. It was a monumental effort, since she was still sobbing.

This weakness of her body was something else that was new, and she hated it. She'd always been athletic, although it wasn't necessarily by choice. She was big and tall and everyone wanted her for their teams—softball, basketball, touch football, tennis, etc. She'd always been in high demand because of her size and she'd been a decent player, but her heart had never been in it. She was more of the nerdy scientist type who loved to spend hours in her mom's science lab experimenting with whatever her mother would allow. That didn't mean, however, that she liked being a weakling.

She tried to stop crying so she could breathe. She concentrated on inhaling through her nose and then exhaling, and, slowly, she felt herself begin to calm down.

She looked over at the house and snorted out a self-deprecating, cynical laugh. Everyone was still frozen there, still staring at her, and she felt like a dork. Her dramatic exit had kind of fizzled, since she'd barely run far enough to get out of earshot.

She watched them with a certain detachment, like she was watching an old, silent film. Jeremy said something and they all nodded, all except Sam. His eyes hadn't left her, and she knew without having to see him up close that he had that same locked-jaw look on his face that he wore almost constantly.

The others started to go inside, all except Jeremy, who walked toward TJ. Sam was the last to move, watching Jeremy walk toward her. After a moment, Sam finally turned his chair toward the door, pushing himself with hard, jerky grips of his wheels, and rolled inside the house. His freaky dog followed behind him. TJ had never seen a dog that could jump like Rocket.

It didn't take long for Jeremy to reach her. His light-brown hair picked up reddish highlights in the sun, and he looked effortlessly handsome in his old jeans, boots, and white T-shirt. He gave her an ironic smile. "Well, welcome home, Nelly."

She snorted derisively.

"You want some company?"

"No."

His eyes, which were like brushed nickel, held a hint of challenge and wry humor. "Good." He sat down beside her and grabbed a small, random rock that was on the ground, then pulled up his knees almost to his chest and rested his forearms on them, idly fidgeting with the rock.

"Your ears broke?" she asked.

"Nope."

She was annoyed. "I just need to be alone."

"Well, you ought to at least run around to the _back_ of the barn, then, so no one can see you."

She huffed out a small laugh, despite her mood, and gave his shoulder a push. "Shut up."

He grinned, and it almost stopped her heart. He put his arm around her shoulders. "I'm sorry about Elliott," he said sincerely. "I loved him, too."

She felt her throat constrict but there were no tears. The well was dry. "I know."

"He had a good life. After you went to college, you didn't see him that much anyway."

"Gee, thanks. That makes it so much better. Especially since I don't remember any of that. I never left—at least in my brain I didn't. Elliott was only three years old the last time I saw him. I mean, he still acted like a puppy sometimes. Don't you get that?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I get it. But the reality is that you did leave. You made a whole other life for yourself—a whole other family." There was soft accusation in his tone.

She shook her head, feeling a familiar knot in her stomach at the mention of her other "family." "I don't know how I could have. I love _you_, Jeremy, and I have since the day I was born." She'd blurted it out without thinking, too emotionally drained to be on guard.

He gave her a squeeze. "I've always loved you too, Nelly. You know that."

She knew he meant like a sister, and she didn't pursue it. She would scare him off if she wasn't careful. She shouldn't have told him she loved him and was embarrassed that she had, so she changed the subject. "It's not just Elliott, you know? I mean, losing him hurts. I never got to say goodbye to him, and I hate the thought..." She paused, feeling her throat narrow again. "I hate the thought of him dying under the barn all alone."

"I know. Me, too. But I think that's how most dogs prefer to die, else they'd do it on the front porch instead of skulking off somewhere. Just be glad that he probably didn't suffer. His time came, and it was done."

She nodded, knowing that however much it hurt, Jeremy was right. "It's Uncle Joe Mack, too," she said softly. "It doesn't take a genius to figure out he's got lung cancer."

"I know, and I'm sorry. I think he's been fightin' it for a year and a half now."

"How much time you think he's got?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Rumor mill says maybe three to six months."

Her heart plummeted to her stomach. She'd hoped it would be longer. "I've missed so much time with him."

"Well, it ain't like you didn't see him, Nelly. You've been home for almost every holiday and also the summers. You probably saw him as much as you would if you'd stayed in Kentucky. It ain't like you hung out with him every day when you lived here."

"I know, but I don't remember all those holidays and family get-togethers for the last six years. I feel like I've been cheated."

"Yeah. But _he_ remembers. Joe Mack knows you've been here, and he knows you love him."

She was comforted by that and felt something uncoil a bit inside her. She laid her head on Jeremy's shoulder and sighed. "Where do I go from here? What will happen? Do I go back to school and start over?"

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

"Um, yeah. I'm forgetting lots of things," she said dryly.

He snorted. "I mean what are you gonna do about your husband and those babies?"

"He's not my husband. I barely know him."

"Well, there's a very legal document in the state of California that says he is."

"I know." She was quiet for a moment, the fact of her marriage hanging over her head. "It sucks. Not just for me. For Sam, too. He seems like a nice enough guy, just from what I know. He doesn't deserve any of this."

"No. I suppose he don't, but neither do you, Nelly."

"To top it all off, he's _handicapped._"

"Yeah. It's kind of hard to give a feller in a wheelchair the boot, ain't it?"

She nodded. "Plus, my parents seem to really like him." She huffed, thinking of the exchange between Sam and Uncle Joe Mack over carrying TJ's cardboard box and the way Aunt Tru had fawned over Sam earlier this afternoon at the nursing home. "Heck, my whole family likes him. I don't know that anyone would back me up if I said I wanted him gone. And then there's the twins. Whether I feel like their mother or not, they're my flesh and blood. They're my parents' _grandchildren_. I mean, even if I get a divorce from Sam, they're gonna be in my life forever." She paused for a moment, feeling despair at the prospect. "I'm so scared, Jeremy. What am I supposed to do?"

He absently rubbed her shoulder. "I don't know, but you're not alone. I'll be with you every step of the way."

**XXXXXXXX**

When TJ and Jeremy finally walked through the front door a few minutes later, TJ was met with more changes. The house smelled different, like paint and new wood. The multicolored olive-, forest-, and lime-green shag carpet that had been in most of the rooms since she could remember was gone, at least in the living room. In its place was...nothing. The floor was a rough, scuffed hardwood. The shag had been bad enough, but the wood that hadn't seen the light of day in years was awful.

The twins were rocking in matching swings in the living room, the boy asleep and his sister sucking her tiny thumb with heavy lids, about to join him in dreamland. The sight of them made something shift inside TJ, but she brushed it off. She was human, right? Just because she thought the babies were cute or whatever the feeling was that she'd just experienced, it didn't mean she was ready for motherhood.

Everyone was gathered around the large farm table in the kitchen, even Sam, who was pulled up to the table in his wheelchair. They all had Mason jars of iced tea in front of them, and there was a cake that Aunt Joyce had probably made that said "Welcome Home TJ" on it in bright purple icing.

It sounded like Aunt Joyce was talking about one of the ladies at her church. "Lawsy, you shoulda seen Mrs. Walker's face. She was fit to be tied. She don't have that old timer's disease. She just hadn't seen Myrna in years. Plus, Myrna's put on about fifty pounds. _I_ was hard-pressed to recognize her, and I'm thirty years younger than Mrs. Walker."

Everyone chuckled, all except Sam. He was the first one to notice that TJ was standing in the doorway to the kitchen. His eyes were dark—questioning—and his expression turned stony as his gaze rested on Jeremy, who was standing beside her.

Fern was the next person to notice TJ and Jeremy and immediately jumped up from her chair, skirting the table and giving TJ a big, sympathetic hug.

When they separated, Fern put an arm around TJ's waist and rubbed circles on her back. "I'm sorry, sugar. We should have prepared you about Elliott. We were just so excited that you were coming home, and, well, it's been several months since Elliott passed."

TJ nodded and swallowed, fighting new tears. She didn't want to talk about Elliott anymore. Instead, she looked around behind her. "Mama, why is all the carpet gone?"

"Oh. Well, Daddy and I decided we were tired of it. You know, hardwood is back in style, anyway."

TJ frowned, looking around again. She could see that the hallway going to the bedrooms was bare wood, too. "You think this looks better?" she asked dubiously.

Vern chimed in. "Well, eventually we're gonna have it refinished, but it's kindly pricey to have it done."

"So why didn't you wait to get rid of the shag until you were ready to redo the hardwood?"

"Well, it's easier for Sam to wheel around with the carpet gone," said Fern. "Plus, sanding the wood to refinish it creates a lot of dust, which wouldn't be good for the twins.

Oh, of course. Sam and the twins were the reason. _Nothing_ was the same anymore, and it was all due to them. TJ glanced at him. His eyes were on her, broody and pensive. It pissed her off.

The look on her face must have shown her disdain, because Fern began to talk in a rush, explaining. "We were gonna get rid of that old shag anyway, even before Sam came. We've been talking about doing something for years, and that carpet was old and nasty."

TJ couldn't keep the acerbic bite out of her tone. "So now we have to live with this shitty, splintery, rotten wood instead?" It really wasn't that bad, but TJ was in no mood to cut anyone any slack.

Everyone shifted uneasily. Sam's brooding expression got even darker, his head tilted to one side. TJ could tell she'd hit a nerve, but she didn't care.

Aunt Joyce cleared her throat nervously. "Would y'all like some cake?"

No one answered. Vern didn't seem to have heard and was eyeing TJ with a stern, warning look. "First of all, I think your delicate feet can handle that hardwood, Miss High-And-Mighty, or else wear your damn slippers. Second of all, little girl, you better watch your tongue."

Vern never tolerated anyone putting on airs, and TJ knew she was pushing things with her attitude. Apparently, the fact that she was an amnesiac and had just come home from the hospital after being in a freakin' coma didn't count for anything. She should just be happy to accommodate Sam and the twins_._ Everything revolved around them.

"I'm not a little girl, _Daddy_," she retorted bitterly, not caring if she was skating on thin ice with Vern. "I'm gonna be twenty-five years old. Isn't that what y'all keep reminding me?"

No one had anything to say to that, and even Vern's features dissolved into something softer and sadder.

Just the thought of her upcoming birthday made her ill. So much time lost. Six years just gone. It was a mantra that kept repeating over and over in her head in various forms. She closed her eyes for a second, feeling drained. "I'm goin' to my room." She pinned Sam with a glare. "That is, if it's still my room."

He met her gaze steadily. There was a steeliness about him that made her uncomfortable.

Fern, who still had an arm around TJ's waist, gave her a squeeze. "Of course, honey. Your room is still the same—well, almost. We thought you and Sam would be—well, anyway, you have your room, and Sam is staying in the extra bedroom. That bedroom was the nursery, but now we've converted the formal dining room into one. We never used it anyway. Just remember to be quiet if the babies are in there sleeping when you're in the kitchen or living room since those rooms are next to the dining room."

TJ nodded distractedly, not really caring whether she woke the babies or not. She gave Uncle Joe Mack and Aunt Joyce hugs and thanked them for coming. Then she hugged Jeremy. "Thanks," she whispered in his ear. "Thanks for being here."

He squeezed her tighter. "You're welcome."

When they pulled apart, she locked eyes with him, and something passed between them, an emotion that made her heart leap.

"I'll call you later," he said softly.

She gave him a faint smile and then kissed his cheek. As she turned to walk down the short hallway to her room, she caught a glimpse of Sam staring at her. His jaw was set, his shoulders rigid, and he didn't look pleased at all.

TJ didn't give a damn.

**XXXXXXXX**

Sam could do this. It was just four steps. He could do it because he was fucking pissed.

He turned his chair to where his back was to the steps and popped a wheelie, balancing on his back wheels. He grabbed the handrail of the steps with one hand, arm stretched as far as it would go. His other hand was on the wheel nearest the rail, arm across his body. It was sort of an awkward position, but there was a method to the madness—the Railing Side-Wheel Control Method, to be exact.

He'd seen a guy on YouTube go up many more stairs than this in his chair using the technique. Sam figured he could suck it up and handle four. He turned sideways in his chair a bit so that his chest was more toward the rail and pulled hard with the hand that was gripping the rail, pushing his wheel with his other hand at the same time. He looked down and saw that both wheels were now on the first step. He rested for a second, rocking on his back wheels, and let out a puff of air. Three more to go...pull and push, balance; pull and push, balance; pull and push, balance.

By the time he made it up to the porch, he was a little winded but, otherwise, in one piece. He looked down to the bottom step, at the distance he'd gone, and raised his brows. "Huh."

He still preferred an elevator, but, in a pinch, this would work. He could do it again if he had to. To get down the steps, he would use the same method in reverse.

He swiveled around and faced the front door of the Suggs farmhouse.

When he'd first met Jeremy, he'd liked him. They had the same common interest—TJ and getting her to wake up. Jeremy had been there a lot, talking to her and keeping Sam and her parents company. It was clear that Jeremy cared about her, and Sam had liked him because of that. But now it was looking like Jeremy cared about TJ in a way that could derail any chance Sam had of building a relationship with her again. Sam felt like he'd been blindsided.

He'd known TJ's recovery was too good to be true because miracles never happened to him. Technically, it was TJ the miracle was happening to though, not him, so maybe that was why the fates were being kind. Maybe the fates wouldn't notice that TJ waking up was the only thing Sam wanted, that he would do anything to see her long lashes flutter and her big, beautiful brown eyes open again. He wanted to see those childlike freckles of hers scrunch up with feigned annoyance when he teased her and see her smile and laugh. If he could have her even _mostly_ intact, he would never ask for anything ever again.

She did wake up, flouting the dire predictions of the doctors in San Diego. Leave it to TJ to prove that doctors didn't know everything. Not only did she wake up, but, eventually, she was able to talk, to understand what people said to her, although she had trouble remembering. It seemed like a little thing, having to tell her things over and over. And the longer she was able to stay awake, the more information she was able to retain.

Sam was relieved and ecstatic. He began to hope. Maybe—just maybe—everything would be all right. Maybe TJ and the twins would eventually be okay and they would be able to build a life together, to be a family. He should have known better.

She could move her arms and legs. Although her muscles were weak from disuse, there was no evidence of paralysis, and she was getting stronger. All the hearing tests and vision tests were promising. She had trouble seeing far away, but the doctor thought it had more to do with her having her eyes closed for six months more than a neurological problem.

The day Sam took the twins to her, he was riding high. TJ would be so amazed by them. She would be so happy. But there was one little glitch, one little snag that he hadn't seen coming. He could hear the fates laughing at him even now.

TJ had no memory of him or the twins.

He was devastated. He literally felt like the earth had shifted on its axis, like the rug had been pulled out from under him.

And not only did she not remember him, she seemed to have an intense dislike for him. Her hostility toward him was so foreign, so out of place, that it was sometimes hard for him to comprehend it. He had to remind himself that he wasn't in the middle of a nightmare.

He wanted to touch her, to kiss her, to make love to her. God, it had been so long. His body ached for her with an overwhelming longing that physically hurt. Yet she didn't even want to be in the same room with him. He knew he needed to tread carefully with her, no matter how much he wanted to take her into his arms and hold onto her for eternity.

Apparently, the fates weren't done with Sam yet. As if the amnesia and TJ's wariness of him weren't enough, the fates hadn't erased her memory entirely. Oh, no. They'd made it where she remembered _Jeremy_, the guy she'd loved practically since birth—the bastard that had taken her virginity when she was eighteen and then humiliated her by fucking every other girl in Tucker County who would let him into her pants.

TJ told Sam all about it long ago, how she'd loved Jeremy and thought that giving herself to him would ensure that he would love her back. It hadn't. Jeremy had hurt her and damaged her self-esteem, but she didn't seem to remember any of that now. Sam saw the way she looked at Jeremy. It was the way she used to look at him.

He gritted his teeth, remembering her whispering into Jeremy's ear and then kissing him on the cheek. Jeremy had smiled back at her with a smirk that held a promise. It made Sam seethe with anger and go cold with fear at the same time.

Sam had come so close to losing her, but she was alive and—thank God—able to walk and talk. He was no longer in danger of losing her to death and her mind was intact—_mostly_. It was what he'd asked for, right? The irony of that wasn't lost on him.

Now he was in danger of losing her in a much different way—to Jeremy. Well, fuck that. Sam would be damned first.

He knew TJ. She could be stubborn, and the more Sam and the twins were crammed down her throat, the more she would resist them. He wanted to be patient with her, to give her time to adjust to everything that had happened and get to know him and the twins on her own time when she was ready. In order for that to work, though, he needed Jeremy to back off.

Sam rang the doorbell.

After a few minutes, Jeremy opened the door and raised his brows. "Sam?"

Sam nodded curtly.

"What can I do for you?"

Sam didn't beat around the bush. "I want you to stay away from TJ."

Jeremy was chewing on a toothpick, and he leaned leisurely against the doorjamb, one hand in his jeans pocket. He smiled insolently, looking down at Sam. "Is that so?"

Sam refused to let the fact that he had to look up at this jerk make him feel inferior. He squared his shoulders and looked Jeremy directly in the eye. "She's confused right now. She needs time. Having you around just makes her more confused."

"Why do you think that is?"

Sam tightened his mouth, feeling a surge of anger. "I think you know."

Jeremy took the toothpick out of his mouth. The insolence in his manner was gone, and he was suddenly serious. "She needs me right now. She's lost and scared."

"She has me and her parents."

"You're a stranger to her, and Fern and Vern keep taking your side on things. I'm the only one that listens to her, that cares how _she_ feels."

That made Sam pause. Is that how it looked to TJ? That everyone was ganging up on her? "I care about how she feels and so do Fern and Vern. We want what's best for her."

"Yeah," agreed Jeremy, "but what y'all think is best and what TJ thinks is best might be two different things. Y'all want her to just jump right in and be the good little wife and mommy, but maybe that ain't what she wants. Maybe she's not ready for that."

"No one expects her to 'jump right in.' She needs time without you interfering."

"She's my best friend. I've loved her my whole life. If she needs me, I'm gonna be there for her."

Sam rolled his eyes. "You barely spoke to her more than twice in the last six years."

A flash of regret crossed Jeremy's features. "She built a new life for herself. I didn't want to ruin that for her."

"So don't ruin it now."

"Well, there's the small matter that she don't remember that life anymore."

"She's my _wife_."

"In my book, if she don't remember you or the vow she made—and won't ever remember again—that changes things."

Sam clenched his jaw. "I won't give up on her. What we had—it was stronger than any teenage romance that happened six years ago. Stay away from her. It's not just me. She's a mother now. She needs to be able to get to know the twins, to bond with them."

Jeremy shook his head. "I'm not gonna abandon her when she needs me."

Sam's mouth curled sardonically. "Why? You did before."

Jeremy's expression hardened. "I was a teenager. We were both so young then. I was an asshole, and I've paid for it the last six years. I've wished a million times that I could go back and do things differently. I would never hurt her like that if I could go back and do things over." He smirked, his eyes twinkling and arrogant. "Seems like maybe I'm gettin' that do-over now after all."

"You fucking dick," Sam spat. "She has amnesia. What kind of pathetic excuse for a human are you for taking advantage of that? It's the _only_ reason she's even giving you the time of day."

Jeremy's steely eyes turned glacial. "We'll see about that."

Sam made his words forceful and deliberate. "Stay...away...from my wife."

Jeremy's brows went up and he eyed Sam's wheelchair pointedly. "What are you gonna do if I don't?"

What could Sam say to that? He gripped his tires hard, a wave of fury scorching his blood. He wished with every fiber of his being he could stand up and kick this douche bag's ass. "Stay away from her."

Jeremy waved his toothpick at Sam. "I tell you what. I'll do what's best for TJ, what _she _wants. If she chooses you, I'll steer clear." One side of his mouth curved into half a smile. "Otherwise, may the best man win."

**XXXXXXXX**

TJ woke from her nap feeling listless and depressed. The sun was fading into dusk and didn't do anything to help cheer her. She hated waking when the sun was going down. There was something wrong about it, and it made her feel weird and on edge.

She lay in her bed, scanning the room, looking for what was different and what was the same. That was how it was for her these days—constantly searching for some semblance of order, some semblance of what remained of her old life, and trying not to freak out when she could never really find it because nothing remained untouched by time.

The comforter on the bed and the decorative curtains were different, although the white metal blinds over the window were the same. The comforter and curtains were a tasteful, solid light blue and were more grown up and tranquil than the lime-green and purple stripes she'd had in high school. The wall color was different, too. It was a subtle, practical, grayish taupe instead of the garish, girlie, bright lavender it was before.

She wondered if Other TJ had chosen all these new colors or if Fern had chosen them. Somehow, she doubted it was her mom. Fern's tastes in decorating left a lot to be desired. In fact, all the crazy bright colors of TJ's room before had been Fern's idea.

TJ wasn't sure what to do with herself. She wanted to talk to her parents, to just be with them, but she was afraid she would have to be around Sam, too. When she heard the squawk of one of the twins in the living room, it was decided for her. She would stay out of sight. The baby boy's reaction earlier in the day—the way he'd gotten so upset because she wouldn't hold him—had been unsettling. She didn't know the first thing about handling a baby.

She'd never babysat anyone younger than five. She'd never changed a baby's diaper in her whole life. When she was old enough, she'd started waitressing at Donna's, and her short-lived babysitting days were over. Her experience with babies was nonexistent, and she had no desire to learn. That probably made her a bad person, but after all the revelations of the past few weeks, she didn't care.

She decided to take a shower. It would give her something to do, and the thought of hot water sluicing over her shoulders suddenly sounded incredibly inviting, especially in her own shower in her own bathroom. Maybe it would beat some of the tension out of her. She headed out of her room and into the hallway toward the bathroom, grinding her teeth at the feel of the scratchy hardwood beneath her bare feet.

Her first clue that it wasn't just _her_ bathroom anymore was that the doorway to it was wider. The wood around the threshold and the door itself were new and freshly painted. When she opened the door, she saw that there was a white padded seat that had replaced the regular toilet seat, a bench-looking thing across the middle of the shower, and the normal shower head had been replaced with a hand-held one. It reminded her of the bathroom at the old folks home she'd been in. All that was missing were the grab bars, and she wondered why they hadn't gone all the way and installed those, too.

She almost groaned audibly. She had to share a bathroom with Sam. Of course she did. What other option was there? Her parents' bedroom had its own bathroom that had been added years ago, but she would have to go through their room every time to get to it if she wanted to use it. She was almost tempted to do just that, but instinct told her that her parents wouldn't approve, and there was no logical reason she could think of not to share with Sam, other than he was a complete stranger—and a guy_. _And the modifications to the bathroom, although minor, reminded her that he was a very handicapped one.

She sighed. She would just try to ignore it all. It wouldn't be so bad. At least her ass would be comfy, she thought wryly, and the shower bench might make shaving her legs easier. She grabbed the frame of the bench and pulled on it, but the suction cups that anchored the legs inside the tub resisted. Still, all she would have to do was break the suction and the bench would come right out. There was no need to freak out about it all—and no need to be a bitch about it. She could be mature. After all, she was twenty-fucking-five years old.

She turned on the ventilation fan so that the bathroom wouldn't get too steamy, got a towel from the linen cabinet, and took off her clothes. She got the bench out of the shower with no problem, got the water temperature adjusted and the shower head raised to her height, and sighed with pleasure as the hot water draped over her shoulders. She hadn't unpacked her stuff yet from the hospital, but she noticed there was already shampoo and conditioner in the shower anyway and knew they had to be Sam's. Without a second thought, she put a quarter-size dollop of shampoo in her hand and started lathering it into her hair.

It was a mistake.

The scent of the shampoo was spicy, fresh, and clean, triggering an emotion so strong in her that she doubled over, bracing her hands on her knees. She felt a tightness in her core, sort of like what she sometimes felt when she was around Jeremy, only this was much more intense. What the hell?

She felt a little shaky and quickly washed the shampoo out of her hair, not bothering with the conditioner. Have mercy. She really was a mess if she was starting to get freaked out by shampoo.

After she finished showering, she secured a towel around herself, tried to ignore the scent of Sam's shampoo that still lingered in her hair, and put the bench back in the tub exactly like she found it. In the process, her towel slipped off and fell to the floor before she could catch it. She was about to retrieve it when she caught sight of herself in the mirror and froze.

The mirror was still a bit steamy despite the ventilation fan, but not so much that she couldn't see the body reflected in it. It was Other TJ's body, not hers. About the only good thing she could see was that she was thin. She had lost a lot of weight while in the coma, along with muscle mass, and she looked kind of like one of those emaciated runway models. Not that she was even near pretty enough to be a model, but she was _skinny_. She was the kind of skinny she'd fought her entire life to be. _This time_, she vowed to herself, _I won't gain it back._

The bad news was that scars marred her skin everywhere in all shapes and sizes. Some were old, some new. There was a perfectly vertical, faded one about one and a half inches long under her breastbone. There were four scars in the shape of small, solid circles—one that she knew was from the feeding tube that had been in her stomach and was still healing. There was a long, thin, reddish, horizontal scar just above where her pubic hair began. She knew from her cousin Sherma Lynn, who had to have a cesarean section when she'd had her son Charlie, that it was probably the scar where they'd taken the twins out. And last but not least, there was the scar on her neck from the tracheostomy. It was healing nicely and probably wouldn't be too visible once it was completely healed, but, nevertheless, it was part of the collection.

She had taken showers at the hospital but avoided looking at herself in the mirror, afraid of who she would see looking back at her. Besides, at first, when she was so weak, there was a nurse to help her and she'd been distracted. This was the first time she'd really taken stock of her body.

In addition to the scars, she noticed stretch marks in the area of her lower abdomen and hips, probably courtesy of being pregnant. _Just fucking great. _

She traced the scars and then ran her finger over the silvery-looking stretch marks. The scars and stretch marks were like a road map of her life for the last six years, a map that she couldn't read. Most of the scars were a mystery to her. What had happened to her? What had she been through?

It was suddenly all too much, and she lost it again for the second time that day. She started crying, the kind of crying that was noisy and embarrassing and made her throat hurt. She just stood there, staring at herself in horror, face crumpled and tears cascading down her cheeks.

She wasn't sure of how much time passed when there was a knock on the door. "TJ?" It was her mother's voice.

TJ didn't answer, just shook her head, although no one was there to see but her.

"TJ, hon, open the door."

TJ tried to pull herself together and grabbed a tissue off the vanity. She wiped the tears from her face and blew her nose, but she was still crying, and a new batch of tears and snot replaced what she had wiped away. Her nose was getting so stopped up she had to breathe through her mouth.

"Please, TJ. Open the door, baby girl."

TJ almost choked on a sob but managed to get out, "I'm okay, Mama."

"No, you're obviously not." The door suddenly opened, and TJ cursed herself for not locking it. Her mother walked into the bathroom.

"What's wrong, sugar?" Ferna Sue asked with a worried frown. She picked up TJ's towel and wrapped it around her, securing it like a sarong over TJ's chest, since TJ could do nothing but pathetically stand there bawling. Finally, TJ got control of herself and sat against the edge of the vanity. She grabbed another Kleenex and dabbed at her eyes.

Fern cupped TJ's chin with her finger and lifted TJ's face. "Tell Mama what's wrong."

TJ was still taller than Fern, despite sitting against the vanity, but that didn't mean she was too big to receive her mother's comfort. She wrapped her arms around Fern, and Fern put her arms around TJ and held her. TJ felt like a child again, and it was soothing. She loved her daddy and would always be his little girl, but there was no love on the planet that compared to her mother's.

After a few minutes, she leaned back but didn't say anything.

Fern grabbed a washrag from the linen cabinet, dampened it with warm water, and cleaned TJ's face. "Now, sugar, you wanna tell me what brought that on? Did everything just hit you like a ton of bricks?"

TJ half-shrugged and sniffed. "Something like that." Her voice was a little hoarse.

"You can talk to me, TJ. You know that."

TJ sighed. "I—I..." She felt a blush coming on.

"Tell me, honey. I'm your mother."

"I, um, saw—there's all these scars on me, Mama. Was I sick or something? I don't mean, you know, everything that's happened as a result of the twins. Was I sick another time? Or was I maybe in a car accident or something?"

Fern's mouth tightened and she focused on a point beyond TJ, like she was searching for the right explanation. Then she put her hands on TJ's shoulders and gave her a direct look. "You had—when you were a freshman in college, TJ—probably even earlier than that—you developed an eating disorder."

TJ's mind raced, remembering her occasional binge eating. She swallowed a hard lump in her throat. Oh, God. How much did they know?

"You were diagnosed as bulimic with anorexic tendencies," said Fern. "Do you know what that means?"

TJ wasn't totally sure what it meant, but she had a pretty good idea. She felt her face grow hot with embarrassment, and she looked down and fidgeted with the Kleenex in her hand.

Fern cupped TJ's chin again and made TJ look at her. "It means that you would starve yourself like an anorexic, and then you would get so hungry you couldn't stand it anymore, and you would binge. Then you would make yourself vomit—violently so."

TJ's stomach twisted into a knot, and it felt like her face was now flaming. "Oh, God."

"It was...a very difficult time."

TJ fidgeted with her Kleenex again.

Fern took TJ's face in her hands, her green eyes fierce and penetrating. "You beat it, TJ. You were released last summer from therapy. Do you hear? You were in recovery."

TJ's eyes started to tear up—again. "And everyone knows?"

Her mother's lips pursed. "Just the people closest to you."

TJ snorted. "I have no idea who that could be. Does Jeremy know?"

"I don't think so, unless you told him without me knowing. This all happened after you went to college in San Diego, and you didn't seem to be as close to Jeremy after that."

TJ hoped Jeremy didn't know. She didn't want him to think she was a freak—at least, more of a freak than she already was with the amnesia. "So, I suppose Sam knows."

Fern brushed a lock of TJ's drying hair off her cheek. "Yes," said Fern. "Sam knows. The worst of it happened the semester before you graduated with your bachelor's degree. Sam helped you through it. I think he's part of the reason you were able to overcome the bulimia once and for all." She smiled. "He was with you every day when you were in the hospital for the rupture. That was before you started dating, when y'all were still just friends. It was a hard time for you, but he always seemed to be able to cheer you up."

Yet another story about how wonderful Sam was. TJ didn't want to talk about him anymore, so she changed the subject. "You mentioned a rupture. What are you talking about?"

Fern sighed. "The vomiting caused a tear—a rupture—in your esophagus. You could have died if Sam and Bobby hadn't found you unconscious in your apartment. You had to have surgery and were in the hospital for two and a half weeks."

TJ let that soak in. Surgery and two and a half weeks in the hospital. It was hard for her to comprehend. She'd never been sick a day in her life. "Who's Bobby?"

"Bobby Singer. He's like a surrogate father to Sam and Dean. He lives in South Dakota. He came to see you while you were still in the coma, at the hospital in San Diego. He hasn't been able to make it to Kentucky yet, but I'm sure he will someday. He loves Sam—and you. He's who Robby is named after.

"Both of Sam's parents are dead," Fern explained further. "His mother died when he was a baby. He never knew her."

TJ felt a twinge of compassion but tamped it down. She didn't want to feel sorry for Sam, didn't want to care.

"Sam's daddy was killed in a car accident about a year before Sam got hurt."

"You mean before Sam was paralyzed?"

"Yes."

"What happened to him, Mama?"

Fern gave a sad little smile that held a hint of apology. "I think you should ask Sam that. It's his story to tell."

"I can't ask him that."

"Why?"

"I don't know. It just doesn't seem right. I hardly know him. It seems rude or weird to ask him about what happened, like it might be something painful to talk about."

Fern didn't disagree, and her expression was grim. "Ask him. It won't be an easy conversation, but you two should talk about it. He's your husband, TJ. You shared everything with each other. You were so close—closer even than you and me."

TJ couldn't imagine being closer to Sam than she was to her mother. She told Fern everything. Well, almost everything. Obviously, she hadn't told her about having sex with Jeremy or the binge eating. She felt a stab of shame. How could she have developed an eating disorder? She'd thought about making herself barf many times when she was overcome with oppressive guilt after binging, but she'd never gone through with it—at least, not that she remembered. She rubbed through the towel at the now-healed scar she'd seen under her breastbone.

Fern nodded, seeing where TJ's hand was. "That scar is from the surgery to repair the rupture. You also had to have two chest tubes for drainage and tubes in your stomach and small intestine. That's what the smaller round scars are from."

TJ was suddenly angry. "God, it just keeps getting better and better. What else happened to me? What else has _Sam_ helped me through?"

Fern looked taken aback for a second, and then she gave TJ an admonishing look. "None of what happened to you is Sam's fault. You're not blaming him, are you?"

TJ didn't like Fern siding with Sam, even if Fern might be right. "Oh, and the twins aren't his fault?"

Fern arched her brows. "Well, he didn't make them all by himself. It takes two to tango!"

"Whatever. The point is, if it weren't for Sam, my life wouldn't be so fucked up right now. I never would have gotten pregnant and I never would have had the stroke and I wouldn't have fucking amnesia!"

"Watch your language, missy."

"He's a _stranger_," TJ reiterated, ignoring her mother's scolding. "I feel nothing for him, and I feel nothing for the twins. I can't be their mother. I can't be his wife. Don't ask me to do that. Don't make me." She was pleading now. "Please, Mama. It's all too much. I just graduated from high school, for God's sake." She choked on a sob and pressed her fingers to her mouth, refusing to cry yet again. "I'm getting ready to go off to college. I'm only _eighteen_."

Fern's eyes brimmed with tears and her chin trembled. She took TJ into another embrace, hugging her tightly. "I know," she whispered. She held TJ for a long time and then pulled away, looking TJ in the eye. "I know that's how you feel, TJ, but the reality is that you're not eighteen. You're a woman now with responsibilities. You have to accept that."

TJ shook her head. "No."

"Yes," Fern insisted. "You can't go back in time."

"I'm not going back in time," TJ retorted, frustrated. "_I never left_."

"I know all this is hard, hon, but spend some time with Sam and the twins. Just see what it's all about. You'll never get to know them if you're never in the same room with them."

"No."

"TJ, you're not being reasonable."

"Nothing is reasonable or makes sense anymore. Why do I have to be?"

Fern drew in a deep breath and exhaled, like she was trying to find patience. When she spoke, her voice was calm. "Those babies are a blessing, TJ, and so is what you had with Sam. Give him a chance. He's an amazing young man and a wonderful father. Don't throw it all away. It would be the biggest mistake of your life."

TJ crossed her arms petulantly and refused to look at Fern.

"You _love_ him, TJ. You might not remember it right now, but the way you felt about him—Lord, I've never seen you so happy. It's still in you somewhere. It has to be because I'll never believe that a love that strong could be erased by anything. He's the love of your life."

TJ shook her head obstinately. _Jeremy is the love of my life_.

"Yes, he is," Fern insisted, unaware of what TJ was thinking about Jeremy. "And you wanted those twins—so much so that you were willing to die for them. Sam and those babies, they were your whole world."

TJ stood there, arms still crossed. Her mother wasn't listening, and TJ was tired of trying to make her understand.

A heavy pause stretched between them. When Fern spoke again, her voice was all business. "We'll give you some time to try to adjust to being home, but after that, you'll be expected to help Sam with Robby and Sami Joy. They need their mother, and you need to learn how to take care of them. School starts in another month, and I'll have to go back to teaching. I'm not gonna be here, and Sam can't take care of them and work on his law stuff full time. He already has too much on his plate. You need to help out."

TJ wondered what her mother meant by "law stuff," but she didn't want to give Fern the satisfaction of asking.

Fern opened the bathroom door. Before stepping into the hallway, she said in a stern voice, "You stay away from Jeremy, too. I don't want him comin' around here."

TJ was outraged. "How can you say that? He's my best friend. He's been my best friend my whole life. You and Daddy love him like a son!"

Fern cocked her head to one side, a dry, disapproving twist to her mouth. "Well, you weren't lookin' at Jeremy like a friend earlier, and I'll tell you right now, I better not ever see you kiss him again, especially not in front of Sam."

TJ rolled her eyes and huffed angrily. "Lord, Mama. It was just a peck on the cheek!"

"I'm not blind, and I know somethin' was goin' on between you two that last year you-all were in high school. I don't know what Jeremy's playing at right now, but let him go, TJ. He is not the man for you."

TJ clenched her teeth.

"It's time for supper. That's what I came to tell you. Get yourself dressed. I expect you at the table in fifteen minutes." Fern shut the door gently and was gone.

TJ was livid. She almost flipped the bird at the closed door, but something in her just couldn't do it, even if her mom wouldn't see. Instead, a guttural noise of impotent fury escaped her. She threw her tissue unnecessarily hard at the trashcan, but it was really hard to make much of a show of anger with a damp Kleenex.

She stalked into her room, found her toiletry bag sitting in front of her dresser, and grabbed her shampoo out of her bag. Then she stalked back to the bathroom, yanked Sam's shower chair out of the shower, and got back in, turning on the water. Quickly wetting her hair, she squirted a huge dollop of her own shampoo into her palm and savagely massaged it into her scalp.

She didn't care if she was late for supper. She was gonna wash the smell of Sam Winchester out of her hair if it was the last thing she did.

_**TBC**_


	17. Chapter 17

**_A/N: I must thank my wonderful betas Catsluver and sallyloveslinus for all their hard work. They are awesome!_**

**_Also, thanks to everyone who reviewed as guests. You're fabulous!_**

**Chapter 17**

TJ slipped into her regular place at the supper table, defiantly ignoring the admonishing looks from Vern and Fern. She was still furious with her mother for siding with Sam and banning Jeremy from the house.

She noticed the twins in little bouncers near the breakfast bar that separated the kitchen from the dining table. They seemed content staring at the bright-colored shapes suspended over them, like the toys were the most fascinating things they'd ever seen. They both had on onesies with matching booties, and TJ almost smiled at them before she caught herself.

Her hair was still wet from her second shower, and she felt a cold drop of water drip onto her shoulder. She used the collar of the top she was wearing to wipe it away. Maybe she'd been a _little _worried about being late for supper because she hadn't taken the time to towel-dry her hair very well, let alone use a hairdryer.

Sam was sitting across from her. She could feel his eyes on her but refused to acknowledge his presence. "Daddy, could you pass the green beans, please?" she asked sweetly.

Vern looked none too happy. "We been waitin' for you. We hadn't said the prayer yet."

"Oh," she said with an overly polite smile. "Okay, then." She clasped her hands together and put them to her forehead in a prayer pose, bowing her head.

There was an uncomfortable silence. TJ knew her parents were expecting an apology, but she wasn't about to give one.

Finally, Vern started the prayer. "Dear Heavenly Father, thank you for all the blessings you've given us. Thank you especially for Robby and Sami Joy, for all the happiness and love they bring, and thank you, Dear Lord, that they are healthy. Please continue to help them grow, develop, and thrive. And today, Dear Lord, we thank you so much for the miracle of having TJ back home with us." Vern's voice faltered, and he paused, obviously having difficulty controlling his emotions.

TJ stole a look at him, stunned. She'd never seen her dad cry, except at Mamaw's funeral. In that moment, she realized how hard and painful this whole situation must be for her parents, how worried they must have been when she was in the coma, and she felt selfish.

Vern drew in a breath, collected himself, and moved on. "Thank you, Lord, for providing our daily bread, and please bless this food for the use of our bodies. In Jesus' name, amen."

There was a pause before everyone echoed, "Amen," as they all reflected on the simple words of the prayer and Vern's much more profound emotion. Then they started passing dishes around and filling their plates.

TJ felt even more selfish and guilty when she saw that her mother had made all of her favorites—chicken-fried steak with cream gravy, fresh green beans from the garden cooked with bacon, homemade mashed potatoes, and fresh-baked dinner rolls that TJ knew would still be warm from the oven.

For the first time in weeks, TJ's stomach growled in actual hunger, and her mouth began to water. She cut into her steak, and the first bite was heavenly. Before she knew it, she had scarfed down half of it. She told herself to slow down, that she was eating too many calories. She didn't want to gain all her weight back.

"How does it taste, hon?" her mother asked. There was a hopeful look on Fern's face.

TJ couldn't stay mad at her mother and felt contrite. A part of TJ knew that Fern was right, that her life was different whether she liked it or not—although it still hurt that her mother had sided with Sam. "It's delicious, Mama. Thank you, you know, for making my favorites."

Her mother smiled, and TJ knew she was likewise forgiven for her earlier behavior.

"For dessert, we've got the cake Aunt Joyce made. It's also your favorite—chocolate with cream-cheese icing."

"Great," said TJ, eyeing the food she still had left on her plate. She'd already eaten too much. She shouldn't eat any cake.

"So, Sam," said Vern, "I noticed you been busy on that laptop of yours."

Ferna Sue smiled. "Now, there's an understatement. He's been burnin' the midnight oil."

"You got more new clients?" asked Vern. He stuffed some mashed potatoes in his mouth.

Sam paused, fork in his hand, about to spear a green bean. He held the fork with his long, tan fingers and was surprisingly graceful—if anyone could be called graceful for holding a fork.

TJ felt an odd flush of heat ripple through her and quickly looked down at her plate, concentrating on a speck of pepper in her cream gravy.

"Yes," Sam answered. "I've still got most of my clients from California, and I've taken on a few jobs for some of the local attorneys around Tucker County."

"That's great, hon," said Fern. "I wonder if we know any of them."

"I don't know. You probably know Wyman Trammell, since he's from Moss Fork."

Vern snorted. "Oh, yeah. We know Wyman. He's the town drunk. I'm surprised he ain't been disbarred."

Sam shrugged. "He's a smart guy. But, yeah. I have to catch him before noon if I need to talk to him about anything serious."

"I bet," said Vern dryly.

TJ was wondering what they were talking about, but she didn't _want_ to wonder. She didn't want to be interested in anything having to do with Sam—or his graceful fingers.

Fern reached out and put a hand on TJ's arm. "You probably don't know what we're talking about; do you, sugar?" she asked gently.

TJ shrugged, noncommittal.

"Sam is a freelance paralegal," Fern explained. "He files things in courts electronically, researches, and writes briefs for his clients." She looked to Sam for confirmation. "Did I get that right?"

"Yes," said Sam. "That's most of it."

For the first time, TJ looked directly at him. "That's great," she said, making an effort to be civil. "It's great that you found something you're able to do."

Fern and Vern both stiffened and glanced nervously at Sam, and TJ knew she'd said something wrong.

Sam didn't seem bothered by it, whatever it was. TJ got a glimpse of white teeth and dimples before he pressed his lips together, trying unsuccessfully to suppress a smile. "Uh, yeah. There's actually a lot of things I'm able to do, TJ."

It dawned on her that what she'd said to him was maybe a little insulting and sort of patronizing, and she felt herself blush, embarrassed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"It's okay." His gaze was sincere. "Really." He ate a few green beans nonchalantly like he wasn't giving the topic another thought.

TJ was grudgingly grateful to him for letting her off the hook and not making a big deal about it. Still, she felt so awkward around him. She'd always heard handicapped people just wanted to be treated like everyone else, but she felt like she constantly had to watch what she said.

He chewed his mouthful and swallowed. "Everything is delicious, Ferna Sue—as always."

"Why, thanks, sugar," Fern simpered. "I know it's not as healthy as you normally eat."

He shrugged and tossed a meaningful look at TJ. "It's a special occasion."

Fern's eyes welled up and she swallowed, pressing her napkin to her mouth. It was apparently her turn to get choked up about TJ's homecoming.

TJ wasn't used to her parents displaying so much emotion, and she found it humbling. The baby boy started to cry, and she was relieved when Fern turned in her chair to look at him, taking her attention away from TJ.

"Goodness, Robby," crooned Fern, "what's the matter?"

The baby turned red and got madder.

Fern made a move to get out of her seat, but Sam laid a hand on her arm and stopped her. "I'll get him. You finish your dinner. I'm almost done."

"Supper," Vern corrected, a teasing light in his eye. "It's 'breakfast,' 'dinner,' and 'supper.' There ain't no such thing as 'lunch' in Tucker County."

"Right," said Sam with an amused curve to his mouth. "One of these days I'll get it right. Excuse me," he said politely, folding his napkin and setting it on the table next to his plate.

He backed away, wheeled over to the baby, and leaned forward, using both hands to unhook the harness that kept the baby secure in the bouncer. Then he pressed his hands on his thighs and pushed himself back into a sitting position, grabbed onto one of his wheels, and leaned over again.

TJ realized he must be using the wheel as leverage and wondered why. Could he not get back up when he leaned over?

In a deft move, he scooped the squalling baby out of the bouncer with one hand and cradled him in the crook of his arm.

TJ's eyes widened, afraid the baby's head needed to be supported, but the baby didn't seem to be at all fazed by the unusual maneuver and held his head steady.

Sam pulled himself into a sitting position with his hand that was on the wheel and then lifted the baby to his nose. He grimaced. "Ugh. No wonder you're so ticked."

Actually, the baby was already starting to calm down. His crying was tapering off into more of what sounded like little hiccups, like he knew that his giant of a daddy had come to the rescue. The little whimpering noises the baby made, his little rounded bottom, and the way he looked so small in Sam's large hands caused TJ's body to react, and she had the strong urge to hold the infant. It scared her, and she looked away. She didn't want to admire the loving and very capable way Sam handled his son, and she didn't want to have feelings for the baby. She wasn't ready to be a mother, to have that overwhelming and daunting responsibility.

Sam held the baby to his shoulder with one hand and wheeled to the doorway of the adjoining dining room/nursery with his other hand. When he started to veer off course, he would quickly switch hands, always holding the baby safely, and wheel with whichever hand was free. He was almost as efficient pushing his chair one-handed as he was with two. When he reached the threshold to the dining room, he pushed off of the doorjamb and coasted into the room and out of sight.

The baby girl, who was still in her bouncer, let out a little cry, but it didn't sound as angry or as persistent as her brother's.

Fern was in the process of eating a bite of mashed potatoes. She quickly chewed, folded her napkin, and got up to get the little girl. Once the baby was out of her harness, Fern held her up and smelled, much the same way Sam had with the boy. "No. I don't smell anything."

The baby kicked her little legs.

Fern lay the baby back in the bouncer, unsnapped the bottom of the pink onesie, and opened one side of the baby's diaper. "Not wet," said she said, shaking her head. She fastened everything back up again and lifted the baby, this time nuzzling the baby's cheek and giving her a series of little kisses.

The baby gave a gummy smile and made a gurgling sound that was close to a giggle.

Fern laughed. "You just don't wanna be left out; do you, Sami Joy?"

TJ cringed inwardly. There was no way she would have ever agreed to that name, and she wondered who came up with it. For some reason, she couldn't see Sam doing it. It was a country-sounding name, and he seemed more citified than that.

Fern sat back down at the table and held the baby facing outward in her lap while she finished eating. The baby seemed content to peruse her new surroundings until she saw TJ, and then she stared, her little head bobbing and jerking every once in a while. TJ watched her.

Fern took a drink of her iced tea and then slanted a look at TJ. "She's fascinated by you, hon. You wanna hold her?"

TJ tore her eyes from the baby and focused on her plate, shaking her head. "I'm not done eating." It was a lame excuse, since Fern was holding the baby even though she wasn't finished either.

Fern huffed affably. "Oh, Lord. Neither Sam nor I have made it through a whole meal without getting interrupted by the babies since we brought them home from the hospital."

TJ half-shrugged and sawed at her chicken-fried steak, intimating she needed two hands for the knife and fork. Of course, the steak was so tender it was like slicing through butter and could have been done with just the fork, but she was determined not to hold that baby come hell or high water.

Fern pursed her mouth in disapproval but didn't push it. TJ knew it was a temporary reprieve.

A few minutes later, Sam came rolling in with the boy and resumed his place at the table, holding the baby in his lap in a similar fashion to Fern. He cast a tentative smile at TJ. "The joys of parenthood. That was...gross."

Fern and Vern chuckled knowingly, but TJ gave Sam a look of disgust. She didn't want to talk about baby poop at the supper table.

Sam held her eyes for a moment, a tick in his jaw, but then he picked up his fork and stabbed at his mashed potatoes.

She felt a twinge of guilt for being bitchy but did nothing to rectify it. She went back to her steak, cutting another bite and almost wincing at the number of calories she was ingesting.

More small talk was made—TJ not contributing—until everyone was finished eating. Fern got up and handed the baby girl to Vern and started clearing dishes from the table. "Time for cake, y'all."

TJ looked at her plate. She'd eaten almost every bit of her steak but only half of her mashed potatoes and green beans. She was proud of herself for only taking one bite of her dinner roll, although she could have easily eaten the entire basket of them. "I'll help clear," she said, and folded her napkin onto the table.

She stood and started grabbing the dirty dishes, trying not to notice Sam's broad shoulders and long, thick, soft-looking brown hair as she reached over him to get his plate.

He looked up at her. There was a rustic light fixture hanging over the table, and his eyes caught the glow from it. They were actually hazel in color instead of brown like she'd thought—not that she really cared—but they were kind of nice to look at, if you liked that sort of thing. She, of course, was partial to gray eyes.

"Thank you," he said.

Lord, he was so polite. All she was doing was taking away his dirty plate. She was inexplicably flustered and cleared her throat. "You're welcome," she muttered.

As she cleared her dad's plate, Vern tickled the baby girl's belly. The baby kicked her legs in delight and gurgled. Vern laughed and held her up for a kiss on her cheek. TJ imagined that was how he probably was with her when she was a baby, and she couldn't help but be touched by it. She let a small smile escape her.

She took the stacked plates into the kitchen and put them in one side of the deep, old, porcelain sink. She glanced over and saw that her mother was cutting pieces of cake and putting them on small plates. "I'm full, Mama. Don't cut me a piece."

"Oh, you got room for a little. You didn't even eat that much supper."

_Here we go,_ thought TJ. "Really, Mama. I can't eat another bite."

"You're skin and bones, sugar. We need to get some meat on you."

That was the last thing TJ wanted. "I guess my appetite still isn't up to snuff."

Fern got a clean fork from the silverware drawer and forked a section of cake, then held it out for TJ. "Just take a bite."

TJ was getting irritated. "Mama—"

"Just a bite," said Fern, jabbing the fork under TJ's nose. "That's all I'm askin'."

TJ huffed in resignation and opened her mouth. It was just one bite, right? Fern stuck the bite of cake in TJ's mouth, and TJ almost moaned in ecstasy. Aunt Joyce was renowned throughout the county for her cakes. There was nothing fancy about this one—it was just chocolate with cream-cheese icing—but it was heavenly. TJ had to call on every ounce of willpower from every nook and cranny of her body to drum up a refusal. "It's good, but I'm full."

Fern narrowed her eyes and studied TJ. It made TJ uneasy, so she busied herself with washing the dishes. "Y'all go ahead and eat," TJ urged. "I'll do the dishes."

Fern shook her head stubbornly. "No, ma'am. You can come sit with us until everyone eats their cake. I won't be able to enjoy mine if I hear you in here doin' the dishes by yourself."

"I don't mind, Mama."

"Come sit with us, TJ. The dishes'll keep." Fern reached up and put a gentle hand on TJ's cheek. "You were gone for so long. I want you next to me at the table. I want to enjoy the fact that you're _here._"

TJ couldn't say no to the look on her mother's face and nodded reluctantly.

When they returned to the table, Fern walked over and held out her hands to take the baby girl from Vern.

He looked like he might protest but then thought better of it. It was obvious Fern just wanted to hold the baby.

Fern looked a bit sheepish. "I'll take her so you can eat your cake in peace, Pappy."

_Pappy? _The name surprised TJ, and she couldn't picture her mom being called Mamaw. "What will the twins call you, Mama?"

Fern held the baby girl facing outward and took her seat. "Grammy," she answered. "I don't feel like a mamaw."

TJ nodded and stared at her glass of tea, not wanting to seem too interested in the subject. There was always the threat that someone might try to get her to hold one of the twins if she showed too much curiosity.

Sam was quiet, but TJ could feel him studying her. It made her feel restless.

A piece of cake was in front of everyone except TJ. There were a few moments of silence as everyone took a bite, followed by oohs and ahs over how good the cake was.

TJ took a drink of the tea in her glass, appreciating the sweetness of it as it slid down her throat, pretending that it was an adequate substitute for a piece of cake. "So, um," she began, "how far did y'all say I got in grad school? Molecular biology, right?" When she'd graduated high school, she wasn't sure whether she would go the biology route or the chemistry route.

Her parents and Sam looked at one another, none of them jumping at the chance to answer. Finally, Fern spoke. "You completed a year and a half of the molecular biology program. You got through the fall semester of your second year of grad school, even though you had to take your finals while you were in the hospital. You did real good on them, despite what you were going through with the bed rest and all."

"And I finished undergrad in four years?"

Vern looked proud. "Yep. You did it in four years and held down a waitressing job to boot. You graduated with honors, even though you had a tough senior year."

TJ contemplated his use of the word "tough" and felt heat rise up her neck when she realized he was referring to the bulimia—the bulimia that _Sam_ had helped her deal with. Maybe that's how he got her to fall in love with him. She'd been vulnerable, not herself. Maybe she latched onto anyone who showed her kindness. A slow, molten anger started to simmer within her. All the hard work she must have put into school—gone. It was so unfair. She skewered Sam with a look. "And it's all gone now because you got me pregnant?"

As if to reiterate her point, the baby boy on Sam's lap made a mewling noise and started chewing on his fist, reminding TJ that his very existence was the reason her life was in ruins.

Sam's brow furrowed and there was hurt in his eyes. "TJ, we—" He glanced at Fern and Vern, coloring a bit. "We're not talking about a one-night stand here. We _loved_ each other. We were engaged."

She clenched her jaw and closed her eyes for a second, trying to keep the anger still smoldering inside her from igniting. God, it was all so maddening, all the lost hours of study, all the money her parents must have spent helping her through school. She had a scholarship, but that just covered tuition and books—or at least, it was supposed to. The logical part of her knew that none of this was really Sam's fault, but the emotional part of her wanted someone to blame.

She stood abruptly and grabbed her tea glass. "I'm gonna start washing the dishes." She walked into the kitchen, not giving her mother a chance to protest.

A few minutes later, TJ was cleaning the dishes with an angry zeal like never before—at least, that she could remember—scornful that her mom had refused to ever buy a dishwasher. TJ heard Vern say that he would clear the cake dishes from the table so Sam and Fern could take care of the babies, who apparently needed to be fed again and bathed for the night.

The fact that Vern offered to clear the table was something new. He had never been known to be very helpful when it came to what he thought was woman's work. It wasn't that he was a chauvinist. It was just how things were done in the hills of Kentucky and how they'd always been done. Men and women had their specific roles, and they stuck to them. It wasn't like her mom wanted to go out and plow the fields all day.

Vern brought in three plates of half-eaten cake, and TJ wondered if she had ruined everyone's dessert with her comment to Sam. Well, so what if she had.

To her surprise, after Vern brought in all the plates and glasses from the table, he started drying the dishes she'd finished washing. Apparently, wonders never ceased.

"You know," he said, eyes on the plate he was now polishing to an unnecessary shine, "I know none of this is fair, but you ain't the only one who's lost out in all of this."

"Spare me. I'm not in the mood to hear about what a horrible, selfish person I am and what a wonderful person Sam is."

Vern pinned her with intense blue eyes. "Well, I think you _do_ need to hear it."

She bristled and started scrubbing the mashed potato pan.

"You weren't the only one who was in school, TJ. Sam was in law school."

"Good for him," she said sarcastically, still scrubbing.

Vern put a hand on her arm, stopping her motion and commanding her attention. "He was in law school at _Berkeley_. I don't think I have to tell you it's one of the top law schools in the country. He had a full ride on a scholarship, but he only finished his first semester. He left because of you and the twins."

That made her reel, but she tried not to let it show. "Well, I guess that makes us even, then." She rinsed the pot, set it in the clean side of the sink, and started another.

"He's up to his eyeballs in debt—"

"Well," she interrupted, "like I said before, it's great that he's able to work."

Vern tilted his head and his mouth twisted cynically. "Yes, it is good that he's able to work to pay all of _your_ damn medical bills, along with what the twins racked up in the NICU."

That stopped her cold. She hadn't even thought about any of that and no one had ever mentioned it to her. In the back of her mind, she'd just assumed her parents were paying for whatever insurance might not cover.

"He don't let us or his brother Dean help with none of it, even though we've offered." Vern shook his head in admiration. "Sam's got more than his share of stubborn pride. It'll probably take him years to pay it all off, but I have no doubt he'll do it."

She spoke with sarcasm again to hide the peculiar emotion she was feeling. "Sounds like he's a regular hero."

This time her dad grabbed her arm and turned her toward him. "He _is_ a hero, girl, more than you could ever conjure up in your wildest dreams."

"What are you talking about?" she hissed. "What happened to him, Daddy? Why is he in that wheelchair?"

Her dad let go of her arm. "You need to talk about that with him."

She made a noise of frustration and threw up her hands, flinging suds everywhere. "What's the big secret? Why won't anyone tell me?"

"Ask Sam," stated Vern. His tone made it clear he wouldn't be the one that told her. "And cut him some damn slack. He's given up everything for you, including his brother back in San Diego, the only family he's got left besides us. He moved to a strange place he'd never even seen before because he wanted to do what was best for you and the twins. 'Sacrifice' is Sam's middle name, so why don't you get off your high horse before you knock your head on a tree limb?"

She tilted her head and jutted her chin out, lips pressed together, racking her brain for a suitable comeback. But, to her annoyance, she couldn't think of anything to say.

**XXXXXXXX**

TJ lay in her bed, ignoring the scratching and whimpering of Sam's freaky dog outside her bedroom door. The dog obviously remembered her, even if she didn't remember him. She wanted nothing to do with him. She wanted Elliott. Her throat tightened in that way that signaled the threat of tears, and she tried to push memories of Elliott away.

The whole day had been an emotional roller-coaster—first coming home to find out that her uncle was dying and that Elliott was dead, and then discovering the scars on her body and the embarrassing revelation that she'd had an eating disorder. She felt drained and was tired of crying.

She heard Sam call Rocket away and then heard Sam's bedroom door shut. Several minutes later, she could hear him in the bathroom, which was next door to her room and across the hall from his. He brushed his teeth and then used the toilet, and she was embarrassed that she could hear everything he was doing.

The walls were thin in the old house she'd grown up in, and she realized Sam would, likewise, be able to hear everything she did. God, she was going to have major stage fright every time she went to pee now, and she didn't even want to think about going number two. Sharing a bathroom with him was an invasion of her privacy, however unintentional. She supposed it was for him, too, but she wasn't in the mood to feel any charity toward him.

It was late, almost eleven. She was tired but couldn't sleep. Vern's words about Sam kept tumbling around in her head, no matter how much she tried to think of something—or someone—else. What had Vern meant when he said that Sam was a hero? Vern had sounded like he meant it literally. Did it have something to do with how Sam became handicapped? She was dying to know, despite her professed indifference toward him.

Maybe he was hurt in Iraq or Afghanistan or something, but no one had ever mentioned anything like that. She got the impression he hadn't been in the military—not with that long hair of his, although she supposed he could have grown it out.

His hair. _Mercy._ She knew what it smelled like, thanks to being assaulted by his shampoo. The memory of it made her feel antsy and tied her stomach in a knot.

Maybe he'd been a cop or an FBI agent or something and had gotten hurt doing that. Maybe that's why he waited to go to law school. She didn't know how old he was exactly, but he seemed older than she was. And, as they all knew, she was about to turn twenty-five. The number mocked her, and she winced and put her hands over her ears to make it stop echoing in her head.

If Sam had been a soldier or a cop, she didn't see what the big secret was, why Fern or Vern couldn't just tell her what happened to him. Of course, knowing her parents, they were probably being deliberately mysterious in order to make TJ curious enough to have an actual conversation with Sam. The fact that he had shown up by himself to pick up TJ from the hospital was suspicious, too. There was no way her parents would not have come with him unless they had some ulterior motive, and she could spot her parents' plotting a mile away. It was no secret they were rooting for Sam. She would have to be on her toes if she didn't want to find herself thrown together with him every second of the day.

She could see why they liked him, if she were honest with herself. For one thing, he was obviously smart and had a lot going for him if he'd gotten a full ride to Berkeley. She wondered if he would be able to go back there if she divorced him. She hoped he would. After all, she had no ill will toward him. She didn't begrudge him success, especially since he was handicapped.

For another thing, he was polite, respectful, and so good with the twins. He didn't seem like the type to lose his temper, although she hadn't been around him enough to really know that. It was just a feeling she had from what she had observed and the way he kept such a tight leash on his emotions. She knew she'd pushed his buttons a few times, although it wasn't intentional (well, mostly it wasn't). She thought back to when she kissed Jeremy in front of Sam and felt a pang of remorse. She probably shouldn't have done that, even it had been innocent—sort of.

She supposed if she had to get stuck married to a complete stranger, she could have done worse than Sam. Not for the first time, she felt bad that he was a victim in this whole mess, too.

"_I still love you—more than you'll ever know. I'll never stop loving you."_

His words haunted her. She shouldn't care, but no matter how much she didn't want them to, they had touched something deep inside her. He knew how to get under her skin. She'd give him that.

There was a noise that sounded like a faint knock on her window. She thought she had imagined it, but then she heard it again. She got out of bed, cringing as her bare feet hit the cool hardwood floor, and went over to the window. She made a gap in the blinds with her fingers and looked out to see Jeremy looking back at her with a big grin on his face.

She grinned back, elated to see him. She slowly pulled the strings to raise the blinds, careful not to make too much noise in case it might echo through the silent house—or at least to where Sam slept. Moonlight flooded into her room, and she saw that there was a full moon.

"Jeremy?" she whispered. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought you might need someone to talk to." His voice was hushed but still too loud.

"Shh," she said, putting her finger to her lips. "Hold on a sec." She was wearing pajama pants and a plain T-shirt and could feel a slight chill from the night air breezing through the window. She opened her closet and found a blue sweater that was completely unfamiliar to her. It fit her, though, albeit loosely, so she knew it had to be hers. Next, she threw on a pair of ballet flats that looked like they'd seen better days. The outfit left a lot to be desired, but it would have to do. Besides, she could barely see what she was doing in the dimly-lit room.

She walked back to the window. "Can you take off the screen without tearing it up?" she whispered to Jeremy.

He nodded. Within a few minutes, he had pried the screen off, and TJ was crawling through the window. He immediately embraced her once she was standing in front of him, and she relished the warmth of his body. She was a tad taller than he was, but that didn't matter. She was taller than just about everybody.

He smelled kind of odd. The scent of him was sweet and cloying, and his eyes were hooded. He gave her a crooked, charming smile. "You up for takin' a walk?" he drawled.

"Sure."

He replaced the screen on her window, then took her hand and led the way. His house was two miles from hers by car, but there was a shortcut past the pond on her family's property that cut the distance in half, and Jeremy headed in that direction.

Her heart started to speed up as they neared the pond, and the exhilaration of being with Jeremy made her forget the fatigue and weakness of her body. The setting was exactly as she remembered—the full moon reflecting off the still water, the cacophony of crickets and katydids, a few of her dad's cows keeping them company. Only the fact that they had to watch out for cow pies brought her back to reality and took some of the romance out of it. She was glad of the moonlight that lit their way. She could think of few things grosser than stepping in cow manure.

Jeremy paused near the edge of the pond, crouched down, and made a ripple in the silvery water with his hand. The color of the water reminded TJ of his eyes. He stood up and gave her a devilish grin. "Wanna tip some cows?"

She rolled her eyes. "You know that's a bunch of BS." He was referring to the myth that, since cows slept while standing, you could tip them over with a small push if they were asleep.

He laughed. "Cow skiing?"

"What?"

"Supposedly, when it's real muddy, you grab the cow's tail and then scare it. It takes off, pulling you behind it like you was water skiing."

"I think that's even dumber than cow-tipping." She grimaced. "What if the cow started poopin' while you were holding onto its tail?"

He grimaced in return. "Yeah. You're right. Those city kids I went to school with in Lexington thought you could really do that shit. We all got drunk one night, and they wanted me to bring them to the farm to try it."

She snorted. "I hope you didn't."

"Hell, no. Too much liability. I didn't wanna get my ass sued if one of 'em broke their tail."

"Do you miss it? School, I mean?"

"Yeah," he said softly. "It was the best time of my life. You got all the freedom of an adult but not really any of the responsibility." His mouth tightened. "Real life ain't all it's cracked up to be."

"Tell me about it," she agreed wryly. "Try waking up with a husband and two newborns. I bypassed all the fun of college and went straight to the ball and chain."

He reached out and traced her jaw with his thumb. "I'm sorry, Nelly."

She was suddenly acutely aware of where they were, of the significance of it, and of the intensity in his eyes. For a moment, her heart stopped, and she thought he might kiss her, but he broke the spell and took her hand instead. "Come on. Let's go to my house."

She was a little disappointed he didn't kiss her but tried not to let it show. "Sure. Will Aunt Liv be awake?"

His features sobered. "No. I wouldn't have left her alone if she was."

By the time they made it to the gorgeous old two-story farmhouse that was Jeremy's home, TJ was exhausted, despite the happiness she felt at being with him. Her body wasn't up to mile-long walks in the moonlight yet. They sneaked in the back door of the kitchen, careful not to wake Liv.

Jeremy still held her hand and it felt kind of clammy, but she didn't want to let go. He led her to the parlor, which actually had more of the cozy feel of a den. Jeremy had obviously converted it to his domain, and there were music magazines scattered everywhere and a new-looking computer with the biggest flat-screen monitor TJ had ever seen.

"Wow, nice setup," she said.

He was sitting at the desk, pulling up something on his computer, and he turned to look at her. "Say again?"

She nodded toward the computer. "I've never seen a monitor that fancy."

He looked puzzled and then smiled. "This is how a lot of people do it now, Nelly. I suspect technology has changed a lot in the past six years."

She huffed. "Yeah, I guess. I'm still stuck in the Dark Ages."

He frowned. "So, even stuff like technology you don't remember?"

"Some of it I do. I remember how to work my cell phone. I remember how to drive my car. Of course, I knew how to do all that before the stroke. It's weird. Most of the not-so-important things I remember. Even some of that has been affected, though. I couldn't remember how to button my jeans or my shirt the first time the therapist helped me get dressed, and that's something I've been doing my whole life. I was at a complete loss. She had to show me how."

His brows went up. "Whoa. That's freaky."

"You're tellin' me."

He shook his head in sympathy and turned back to his computer, clicking on something. Music started playing softly from small speakers on either side of the monitor. Once he got the music going, he came and sat down beside her on the overstuffed leather sofa where she was sitting. His gray eyes were red-rimmed. She hadn't really been able to see them in the dimness of the moonlight and wondered why they were so irritated.

"That song is by a band that I just discovered my last trip to Lexington. I go there some on weekends to check out new bands. Sometimes I even fly places like New York if there's a band I want to see; that is, if I can get Mama's carer to stay overnight with her. I write about the bands in my blog."

"You write a blog?"

"Yeah. It's about indie bands and obscure alternative stuff. Some old, some new. I've been getting a lot of hits on it, but it's just a hobby. Not like I could make a career of it." Bitterness crept into his tone.

"Why don't you just sell the bank if you hate it so much?"

He sighed. "I don't know. It's been in my family for generations. Plus, like it or not, it pays pretty damn well."

She looked around her, taking in her luxurious surroundings. She'd always thought of Jeremy's house as a mansion. It didn't seem as big as it did when she was a kid, but it was still a lovely home. "Yeah. I guess that's something—the money part. But if you sold the bank, wouldn't you be set for life?"

"Yeah, probably, but everything's on hold right now. I'd love to move to New York or maybe even Austin, Texas, someday. Both places have awesome music scenes. I went to South by Southwest in Austin last year." He got a faraway look on his face. "It's this huge music and film festival. God. It was mind-blowin'." He was quiet for a beat but then seemed to come back down to earth, meeting her eyes. "I can't uproot my mom, though, and I can't leave her alone."

"I guess everybody's got their problems, huh?"

"Yeah."

He studied her a moment. "You ever smoked before?"

She scrunched her nose. "Ugh, no. You know how I feel about smoking. I can't ever imagine doing it. It's disgusting, and I don't wanna smell like Aunt Tru—God love her."

He laughed. "I ain't talking about that kind of smokin'. I'm guessing if you had, you wouldn't remember it anyway"

She didn't know what he meant.

He got up, opened a drawer, and pulled out a wooden box about the size of a shoebox. To her surprise, he pressed something on the bottom of it, and a hidden compartment sprang out. He pulled out a small, funny-looking glass pipe and a bag of what looked like dried grass packed into clumps. _Grass._ It hit her then what he meant, and she felt uneasy. "Is that _weed_, Jeremy?"

"Yep," he said around the pipe that was now in his mouth. He was in the process of lighting it.

"I can't believe you would do that!"

"Why? There's nothing wrong with it. It ought to be legal."

"Well, it's _not,_" she pointed out indignantly.

He snickered. "Don't be a killjoy. Try it."

"Uh-uh."

He sat down next to her again, and she could smell the same sweet, cloying scent that was on him when he had come to get her. Apparently, this wasn't the first time he'd been "smokin'" tonight.

"I don't like this, Jeremy."

He looked at her, his mouth curved crookedly in amusement.

"Put it away."

He set the pipe on the coffee table that was in front of them.

"Put it away," she insisted, "like, back in the drawer."

He rolled his eyes. "Mercy, TJ. I never knew you were such a prude."

That stopped her for a moment. Something about what he'd said jogged a feeling in her, like a memory was on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn't make it come to her. The harder she tried, the more it was just beyond her grasp. She leaned back on the sofa and let out a long exhale of defeat and frustration.

He frowned and held up his hands, misconstruing her reaction. "All right. All right. I'll put it away."

She watched distractedly as he packed up the paraphernalia and hid it back in the drawer. She felt tired and a bit irritated with him and wanted to go home. "I think I need to go, Jeremy." She stood. "Take me back."

He put his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. She couldn't resist him, and in an instant, her ire turned into something much more pleasant.

"Stay, Nelly," he said in his easy drawl. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." He took her face in his hands.

Her heart beat wildly. He was so beautiful, so familiar, so much her Jeremy in so many ways, even though he'd disappointed her with the marijuana display. But he'd apologized for that.

She wanted to savor this moment, but she was suddenly distracted by a strange song that came from the speakers, something very odd, something she would never choose to listen to, but something that struck a chord within her. The song was horrible really, some dirge with an off-key singer and a driving, jerky rhythm that grated on her nerves.

"Hey," Jeremy said gently, his breath still tinged with the sickly-sweet, herbal smell of the marijuana, "I said I'm sorry."

She tried to ignore the song and concentrate on him. This was what she wanted, what she remembered was between them.

He leaned in and kissed her. At first, it was chaste, but then it became more demanding. He tried with his tongue to get her to open her mouth, but she wouldn't do it, couldn't let him in. Maybe it was the marijuana smell that turned her off, but she pulled back.

"That song," she said. "What is it?"

He kissed her again, this time on her earlobe. "Who cares?" His voice was a pleasant vibration in her ear.

"I care. What is it?" Even as she said it, she wondered what the hell she was doing. _Jeremy was kissing her. _Nothing else should matter.

He halted what he was doing, then pulled back and cocked his head like he was listening. He grinned. "Oh. That's Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds. The name of the song is 'From Her to Eternity.'"

It meant nothing to TJ, and she almost cringed as the singer kept up his mournful crooning.

"It's so awful it's cool, right?" said Jeremy. "It's a really old song. It's on the soundtrack of a foreign German film called _Wings of Desire._

TJ frowned, not sure why the name of the movie affected her, but it was like she'd been dowsed with a bucket of cold water—and the ardor she'd felt for Jeremy was dowsed with it.

_**TBC**_


	18. Chapter 18

**_A/N: Thanks to Catsluver for pushing me to get the emotions right, and thanks to skzb for taking time out of your busy schedule to read this._  
**

**_Thanks to all of you who read and review this story. You make my week!  
_**

**Chapter 18**

_Wings of Desire. _

The name of the film elicited a strong feeling in TJ. What was the significance of it? When she closed her eyes, she saw...dinner rolls. What the hell? Even worse, the vision or whatever it was made her hungry.

Was the movie one she had seen? It didn't seem like the type of movie she would want to see, especially if that god-awful song was part of the soundtrack; but, then again, she never would have believed it if someone had told her six years ago she would be married to a guy that wasn't Jeremy—a paraplegic guy, no less. She was living Other TJ's life now, not her own. Who knew? Maybe Other TJ liked foreign films. Or maybe she was imagining all of it, and the name of the movie meant nothing.

Jeremy combed his fingers through her hair and traced the lines of her jaw with his thumbs. "Now, where were we?" he asked with a suggestive smile. Then he leaned in again, pressing his lips to hers.

She tried to concentrate on the feel of his mouth. This was what she wanted, wasn't it? But she couldn't get past the smell of the marijuana. It was pungent and overpowering. She pushed on his chest. "I'm sorry. I—I think I need to go home."

He let out a breath, bathing her in the weed smell, his lips flapping like a horse chortling. Then he plopped down on the sofa.

She felt drained and was getting more irritated by the minute. He didn't look like he was about to get up and take her home anytime soon. "Jeremy, please. I'm really tired."

He reached out and tugged on her wrist, trying to pull her down to the sofa. She yanked it out of his grasp. "Dang it, Jeremy. I just got out of the _hospital_ today, for cryin' out loud. Take...me...home," she enunciated.

His lids were heavy, and he giggled.

She rolled her eyes. His giggle wasn't the most manly thing she'd ever heard. "You were high as a kite when you came and got me, weren't you?"

"It's not a big deal."

It was to her, but she didn't feel like arguing. "Fine. I'll walk." She didn't want to, wasn't even sure her body would make it another mile, especially by herself with no adrenaline from being near Jeremy to fuel her energy. She definitely wasn't a hundred percent. She was getting mad, though, and she had no patience for Jeremy in his current state. She turned toward the door.

He grabbed her wrist again. "I thought you wanted to talk. I know you had a rough day."

"This was a mistake."

He seemed to sober up a little. "Fine," he said, sounding peevish. "I'll take you back on the big boy."

"You still have that thing?"

He shook his head, his mouth tight. "It's not the same one."

Of course it wasn't. She felt stupid for asking. The last "big boy" he had was an all-terrain vehicle that looked like a cross between a golf cart and a four-wheeler. She wondered if the new one was similar. Lots of farmers used ATVs around their farms to haul around dirt, brush, equipment, and anything else they could find to use it for.

"Come on, then," he said, impatience in his voice. "Let's go."

She was incredulous and indignant at his tone. She was the one who was mad. "Are you ticked at me because I'm just exhausted and want to go home?"

"I'm not mad," he said, but his gray eyes were cool. He turned his back to her as they left the parlor and made his way through the living room.

Yep. She knew him, and this was definitely Jeremy giving her the cold shoulder. She exhaled, frustrated, and followed him. "Jeremy—"

"Shh!" he hissed in a whisper. "You're gonna wake up my mom."

As if on cue, a soft, womanly voice came from upstairs. "Jeremy? Is that you?"

He closed his eyes. "Shit." Then he glared at TJ while he answered his mother. "Yeah, Mama. It's me."

What was his problem? TJ didn't think she'd been that loud. It wasn't her fault his mom was awake.

A light came on and then Liv started coming down the curved stairs.

"Don't freak out if she doesn't know you," he said in a low voice to TJ, his eyes traveling over her. "You look a lot different, especially since the last time she saw you."

TJ looked down at herself. What did he mean by that? Was it bad? How different was she, exactly, besides the fact that she was thinner than she'd ever been in her life—well, that she remembered. Had she aged that much? She didn't think she looked that much older. She hadn't seen that many new wrinkles, just the scars and stretch marks, and the only one of those that showed was the one in her neck where the trach had been. She was glad Jeremy couldn't see the rest of them.

Her hair was long and had no particular shape, but it wasn't really that different than she remembered. Who knew when she'd last had it fixed, although someone must have trimmed it at some point while she was in the coma. It wasn't too far past her shoulders, which was how she usually wore it. She wished she had a ponytail holder with her.

Liv slowly descended the stairs like a movie star, wearing a silky, pale-blue robe. Her thick black hair was in a braid and lay over one shoulder. She was still beautiful and looked much younger than her age. There wasn't a streak of gray in her hair, but TJ figured she probably dyed it.

Liv stared at TJ, her deep blue eyes sparkling. "Do we have a guest, Jeremy?" she said in a genteel drawl.

He cleared his throat. "Yes, Mama. It's Nelly—TJ."

There was a beat of silence, and then Liv broke into a charming smile that left no doubt where Jeremy's came from. "Of course it's TJ." She held out her arms. "Come give your Aunt Liv a hug."

TJ beamed back, relieved and touched that Aunt Liv recognized her, and walked into the embrace. Liv hugged her for a long time. She wasn't as tall as TJ, but she wasn't tiny like TJ's mom, either.

When they broke apart, Liv still held onto TJ's arms. "Let me look at you, sweet girl."

TJ felt awkward at Aunt Liv's perusal of her.

"You're so thin."

"I—I've been...sick."

Liv tilted her head to one side and frowned, looking bemused.

Jeremy spoke up. "Remember, Mama? I told you that TJ had some trouble when she was pregnant with twins. She had a stroke. She was real sick there for a while—in a coma."

Liv took TJ into another embrace. "Oh, baby girl. Bless your heart. I do recall hearin' something about that." Again, she looked TJ over. "You know, you're thin, but it looks good on you."

TJ couldn't help but feel lighter at the compliment and smiled. "Thank you, Aunt Liv."

Liv looked back at Jeremy. "Did you say twins?"

He nodded, eyeing his mother warily, his shoulders stiffening. "Yes, Mama. Remember I told you Nelly got married? You met her husband at church one Sunday. He's the guy confined to the wheelchair."

For some reason, that rubbed TJ the wrong way. It didn't seem right to define Sam by his wheelchair or to say that he was "confined" to it. She didn't think anything or anyone could ever _confine_ him, although she didn't know why she thought that. "He has a name," she blurted out. She sounded more defensive than she'd intended and cleared her throat. "His name is Sam."

Liv looked like she didn't comprehend, and Jeremy just stared.

"My...husband," TJ clarified, the word feeling awkward on her tongue. "His name is Sam."

Liv looked at Jeremy, at first puzzled and then troubled. "Our TJ doesn't have a husband. She's too young. Jeremy, who is this woman?"

TJ's heart sank at Liv's sudden and abrupt delusion. She glanced at Jeremy, not knowing what to do.

Jeremy got a pained look on his face and put his arms around his mother's shoulders. "It's late, Mama. You ready to go to bed?"

Liv looked lost, eyes wide and almost childlike. Jeremy guided her toward the stairs. "I'll be back in a minute," he said, glancing over his shoulder at TJ.

TJ nodded, feeling guilty, like it was somehow her fault that she had triggered Liv's confusion.

When Jeremy came back down, his mouth was set in a tight line. "You'll have to walk home by yourself. She's still awake and she's addled. She thinks I'm my dad. I'm afraid she might wander off if I take you home."

"Okay," TJ said softly. She was bone tired. She almost thought about calling her parents but decided she needed to suck it up. It was only a mile, and there weren't _that_ many hills. She could walk home by herself...in the dark. There wouldn't be _that_ many creepy shadows_. _Still, she shivered at the thought, hugging herself, and then dismissed it. Her parents' disapproval would be much worse than having to walk home.

She looked at Jeremy, who was staring up at the stairs, a hollow look in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Jeremy." She was apologizing for Liv, for the tragic loss of the woman they all knew and loved.

When he focused on her, the expression on his face was bleak. "I don't need your pity, Nelly."

"I didn't—"

He turned abruptly away from her and proceeded robotically up the stairs.

Troubled, TJ headed for the kitchen and the back door. Her emotions were all over the place. She wondered if it was midnight yet because she was ready for this horrible day to end.

She'd been so angry—at Sam, at Rocket, at her parents, at the stupid wood floors in her house, at the universe in general—even at Jeremy for smoking pot and being a jerk. And somehow Jeremy had turned it around to where he was mad at her because she wanted to go home.

It was comforting in a way. At least that hadn't changed. Jeremy was always something of a spoiled brat if things didn't go his way. She knew to ignore him when he got like that. He'd come around sooner or later, and he'd be sweet and apologetic when he did. She was surprised, though. He'd seemed so much more mature until tonight. She'd assumed he'd outgrown that behavior and didn't like what she'd seen.

Despite all that, she felt sadness for him, remembering the look on his face at Liv's confusion, the way his shoulders had tensed because he knew what was coming, like the next thing out of Liv's mouth would be something crazy. TJ's heart went out to both of them.

She'd only walked a few feet into Jeremy's backyard when she heard the snick of the screen door behind her.

"Nelly?" Jeremy called.

She stopped and turned to look at him, arms crossed protectively. She didn't know what to expect, if he was still mad or if he was already over it. She should be miffed at him, but she couldn't get fired up after what had happened with Liv. All she felt was fatigued and drained of emotion.

He jogged up to her and held up a set of keys, his expression contrite in the glow of light from the back of the house. "Take the big boy. Hide it behind your barn. I'll come and get it when I'm sure my mom is back to sleep."

She took the keys, almost smiling. She'd known he wouldn't stay mad for long.

"It's in the shed. Come on. I'll help you get it out."

She followed him to the shed, and he started the ATV, turned on its lights, and drove it out for her. It was a bit bigger than the one she remembered, but, otherwise, it looked similar. He scooted over and she got in the driver's seat.

He started showing her where things were. "It's an automatic. Here's your gas. Here's your brake. It's just like a car. Think you can handle it?"

"Yeah," she answered softly. "I can handle it."

He gave a quick nod and then looked down, popping his knuckles. When he glanced back up at her, there was a rueful smile on his face. "I was an asshole back there, Nelly. I'm real sorry."

"Yeah, you were," she agreed, but she was half teasing him.

He nudged her shoulder playfully. There was a beat of silence, and then he asked tentatively, "So we're okay?"

Never one to hold a grudge, especially where Jeremy was concerned, she said, "Yeah. We're okay."

He reached over and rubbed her cheek with his thumb. "I've missed you so much. These last couple of years have been...hard. It's been lonely. No one really to talk to, you know?"

She smirked wryly. "You can't tell me you haven't had the company of a pretty girl in all that time."

He gazed at her intently. "No one can hold a candle to you, TJ," he said in a serious tone, and then he leaned toward her like he was going to kiss her.

He still smelled of the weed, but she held her breath, her heart about to leap out of her chest. If she'd had any doubts before that he felt something more for her than brotherly feelings, those doubts were dashed in that moment.

Everything should have been right with the world—except that it was all wrong. She suddenly grew a conscience, much to her dismay, and she got a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

_She was married_. She didn't remember Sam, but it didn't change the fact that he existed. She was ashamed at her own willingness to completely ignore that she was somebody's wife and bothered by the ease with which Jeremy ignored that fact, too. It wasn't honorable, and it was another thing that chipped away at her image of Jeremy as the perfect guy.

She turned away from him at the last second. "I—I'm sorry." She swallowed and looked at him, silently imploring him to understand. "I'm so confused, Jeremy. I don't know what's right or wrong anymore."

He dropped his hand away from her face. "You're thinkin' of Sam."

She nodded and then searched his face. "If I kiss you, am I gonna go to hell for cheating on my husband that I have no memories of and feel nothing for?"

He shrugged. "Get a divorce."

She pursed her lips, surprised and annoyed that he could be so cavalier about it. "It's not that simple."

"Why not?"

She sighed. "It's not that I haven't thought about it, but...I don't know. Maybe—I—" She ran a hand through her hair in frustration. "Like I said, I feel nothing for him, but I know he still loves me. He told me he did."

Jeremy frowned.

"Plus," she went on, pushing away the visual of Sam's haunting eyes, "my parents like him. I think they'll freak out if I ask him for a divorce. And then there's the twins. They complicate everything even more."

Jeremy scooted closer to her and put his arm around her, giving her a hug. "I don't know the answer, Nelly, but I won't push you. We can take things slow. We're good at being best friends, right?"

She was relieved that he understood. It was like old times, being with Jeremy like this. It was familiar, and she clung to it desperately, like a life-preserver in a sea of chaos. She laid her head on his shoulder.

He brushed a strand of hair away from her face. "You can tell me anything, and I'm always here if you need to talk. You know that, don't you?"

She yawned. "Yeah. Thanks, Sucks."

He ruffled the hair on the top of her head. "You're welcome, Pippi."

**XXXXXXXX**

TJ did as Jeremy said and parked his ATV behind the barn. As she walked around to the back of the house, she pulled her sweater tighter around her. She was cold and worn out and couldn't wait to get in her bed and snuggle under the warm comforter.

She found the spare key under the flower pot next to the steps of the back porch, relieved that the key was still there after all the time that had passed and that her parents hadn't hidden it somewhere else. Of course, any halfway decent burglar would be able to figure it out in a heartbeat.

As she went up the few steps that led up to the porch, she noticed for the first time a wheelchair ramp similar to the one in the front of the house. Distracted by it, she nearly screamed bloody murder when Sam suddenly rolled out of the shadows of the porch only a foot away from her, Rocket obediently by his side.

TJ clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming, her pulse pounding.

Rocket's tail was wagging like crazy and he whimpered, training woeful eyes on her not unlike his master's sometimes, only lighter in color. She might have tripped over both Sam and the dog if Sam hadn't moved out into the dim light.

Sam's broad shoulders were back and he was gripping his wheels. He was wearing gray sweatpants and a form-fitting white V-neck T-shirt that left no doubt he had muscles—lots of them—in all the right places. His eyes were brooding, his jaw set. "Where have you been?"

Her mind raced, trying to come up with a suitable answer. She studied his face and, judging by the hard expression on it, decided he already had a pretty damn good idea of where she'd been. "Who are you, my daddy?" she quipped defiantly and turned toward the kitchen door.

In a flash, Sam reached out and caught her wrist as she passed. His touch—his calloused palm and the warmth of his hand—caused her blood to surge and made her feel antsy.

"No, I'm not your daddy," he answered quietly. "I'm your husband, and you're my wife. Don't forget that."

She snorted. "I already did. That's the problem." She tugged on her wrist, but he held it firmly.

A muscle in his jaw twitched. "What were you doing at Jeremy's?"

She shrugged, trying to act nonchalant, although her heart was galloping. "Listened to music. Talked. We're old friends. It was innocent," she fibbed. "Not that it's any of your business."

Sam's look was speculative, assessing, as if he was deciding whether to believe her or not. "It _is_ my business. I don't want you to see him anymore."

She was incredulous and annoyed that he was bossing her around and arched her brows. "Oh, really? What is this, the 15th century? You're my husband on a piece of paper _only. _ You don't get to tell me what to do."

Again, she struggled to get free of him. He held her firmly enough that she couldn't break his hold, but he wasn't hurting her.

His nostrils flared, his mouth in a tight line. It was clear he was holding back anger. "You're wrong, TJ. I'm much more than just your husband on a piece of paper, and I'm not giving up on us. I won't let you go without a fight."

She knew he meant it, and it scared her. "I want a divorce," she said impulsively, ignoring the fact that she'd told Jeremy she wasn't sure about a divorce not thirty minutes ago.

Sam winced, almost as if she'd struck him. "I won't give you a divorce. I'll contest it."

"Let me go." She wasn't talking about his grip on her wrist.

He shook his head, expression soulful. "Never. I can't."

"I don't love you! I feel nothing for you!"

A pained expression crossed his features, and she felt a stab of remorse for being so cruelly blunt. He was looking up at her, but he had such a presence that he was no less commanding because he wasn't standing. He was intense, and his dark eyes burned into her. "You _do_ love me."

She laughed scornfully, trying to hide how he made her tremble. "That's pretty conceited and presumptuous of you."

He shook his head. "I'm not being conceited or presumptuous. I know you love me because we have a history together, TJ. I know you love me because you told me so a thousand times before everything got so fucked up." He paused for a second, his gaze earnest. "Trust me. I know you better than you know yourself right now."

"Don't you get it?" she said, her voice breaking a little. She fought a flood of despair. "You know someone who doesn't exist anymore."

"You're wrong."

Distracted by their conversation, she didn't notice that he'd loosened his grip on her until it was too late. He was rubbing circles with his thumb on the inside of her wrist, and the sensation of it was exquisite and mesmerizing. It was more effective at holding her in place than iron shackles would have been.

"You exist," he said. The low rumble of his voice had taken on a husky quality and rippled through her. "You're very much flesh and blood, standing right here in front of me, and I'm grateful for that gift every second of every day."

She fought against the poignancy of what he said, tried not to be moved by it, and forced herself to break contact with him, finally yanking her wrist from his grasp—and feeling cold at the loss of his touch. "Don't make this harder for everyone. Give me...a divorce." It came out less confident than she would have liked.

His look was unyielding. "No."

"If you're not careful, I'll end up hating you," she warned darkly.

His lips were curved enough that his mouth was flanked by faint dimples. "You know what they say. Hate and love are two sides of the same coin."

She felt an uncomfortable tightness in her core and was taken off guard by the easy way he brushed off her warning. It made her angrier. "Go to hell," she hissed.

He tilted his head, studying her. "What are you so afraid of? Why won't you give me a chance and get to know me? Are you afraid you might actually end up liking me, that maybe whatever misguided fantasy you have about Jeremy might be just that—a fantasy? A person can change in six years, TJ. Maybe he's not the same guy you knew before."

Was she that transparent? Admittedly, she hadn't done much to keep her feelings for Jeremy a secret, but it was like Sam knew all her about her dreams of a future with Jeremy. She thought about everything that had happened with Jeremy earlier at his house, the things she'd seen that she didn't like—his willingness to turn a blind eye to the fact that she was married, the way he'd gotten mad at her, the pot smoking—and she was aggravated that Sam had struck so close to home. Well, maybe she didn't know Jeremy as well as she once did, but she still knew him a hell of a lot better than she knew Sam.

She was tired and confused about everything and needed to think. She wanted Sam to leave her alone, to shut up. "You think you know everything about me, about how I feel—what I feel for Jeremy? Why? Because I told you about him?"

He was silent, and it was all the confirmation she needed. He _did_ know.

It frightened her that Sam had such an advantage over her, that maybe her mother had been right and TJ had shared everything with him. Did he know her deepest thoughts and feelings, her darkest secrets? Was there nothing in her life that was still her own, that Sam didn't touch in some way?

She was enraged at the unfairness of it all and she lashed out, her tone scathing. "What did I tell you about him, Sam? Did I tell you that I was in love with him, that I've loved him my whole life? You know, you don't even compare to him. He's my best friend. He's everything I've ever wanted in a guy." She pointed her finger. "_You _are a stranger and a cripple_. _You make me uncomfortable every time I'm around you, and I don't know what I ever saw in you!"

Sam visibly flinched, and the muscles in his neck and shoulders were corded and tense. His lips were pressed together and he was gripping the wheels of his chair so hard his knuckles were white.

She knew instantly that she was way out of line and was mortified. She had spoken without thinking and didn't mean what she said. Her hands felt shaky, and she didn't even know where to begin on an apology. Nothing seemed adequate, but she had to try. "Sam—"

"Did Jeremy tell you what happened between the two of you?" Sam's voice was deceptively even and quiet. He was holding in his emotions, but TJ knew she had hurt him deeply. He was staring out at the backyard and the darkened pasture beyond, not looking at her.

She didn't answer the question. She didn't want to admit she hadn't pushed Jeremy to tell her everything because she was afraid of what his explanation would be.

"Ask him," Sam said tersely, still not looking at her. Jaw rigid, he swiveled his chair around and headed toward the kitchen door, broad shoulders stiff and proud.

TJ felt sick to her stomach and was suddenly blinded by tears of shame. Her hands were at her sides, and she felt Rocket lick her fingers, giving her a show of affection she didn't deserve, before trotting away after his master.

**XXXXXXXX**

"Why are you so quiet, Nelly?" asked Jeremy. The daylight streaming in through the plate glass window at Donna's Diner illuminated his eyes, turning them a pale silver, and he looked handsome and sophisticated in his dark-blue business suit. All traces of the petulance he'd shown when she was at his house the other night were gone.

TJ shrugged in answer to his question and pushed the fries around on her plate with a fork, leaving her cheeseburger untouched, even though she felt a raging hunger. Her emotions were in turmoil, and whenever she was stressed, she wanted to eat. It was getting harder and harder to resist.

It was a couple of days after her fight with Sam, and she couldn't shake the suffocating guilt she felt over what she said to him. She never should have called him a cripple. It was a shitty thing to say, and she shouldn't have thrown it in his face by comparing him to Jeremy. She couldn't even bring herself to look Sam in the eye and hadn't apologized. She was too much of a chicken and didn't know what to say.

She'd agreed to meet Jeremy for lunch, thinking it would get her mind off her troubles with Sam, but here she was, thinking about Sam with Jeremy sitting across the table from her.

She and Jeremy were attracting looks from the other patrons in the diner. She knew a lot of the people, and several had come over and spoken to her, some giving her hugs and well-wishes and praise-the-Lords for the miracle of her recovery. It was disconcerting how much older some of them looked, and she realized that six years could take its toll, especially for those whose lives hadn't been easy.

She was sure her little lunch date with Jeremy would be big news for the Moss Fork gossip mill and had no doubt her parents and Sam would eventually hear about it. The rebellious part of her said that was fine, that both Sam and her parents had to learn they couldn't have their cake and eat it too. They wanted her to take on the responsibility of a twenty-five-year-old—to be a wife and a mother—but they wanted to dictate to her who she could or couldn't see as if she were a teenager.

Her act of defiance—having lunch with Jeremy—didn't really give her much satisfaction, though. Instead, she felt a twinge of remorse for adding insult to injury where Sam was concerned. She wondered if her parents knew what she'd said to him and felt a knot in her stomach at how disappointed in her they would be. It was possible Sam might have told them, but somehow she didn't think he would. Her parents hadn't said anything to her about it, and it wasn't something they would let pass if they knew.

Jeremy reached out and put his hand on top of hers, stopping her from playing with her food. "Talk to me, Nelly. What's wrong?"

She snorted. "I think a better question would be, 'What's right?'"

Jeremy tilted his head to one side and gave her a look that said, _Spill it_.

She sighed. "Sam caught me sneaking back into the house after I left your place the other night."

Jeremy sat back in his chair and quirked his brows. "Uh-oh. I take it he wasn't too happy about it?"

She shook her head. "He told me he didn't want me seeing you anymore."

"And what did you say to that?"

She set down her fork and used her fingers to pick up a fry, dipped it in some ketchup, and popped it in her mouth. She almost groaned with pleasure at the taste of it.

"Come on, Nelly. Don't leave me hangin'. What did you tell him?"

She gave him a dry look. "I'm here with you, aren't I?"

Jeremy grinned. "I take it that means you told him where to shove it?"

She didn't answer right away. She didn't really want to relive the argument.

"Well, come on, girl. Tell me what you said," he prompted.

She sighed. "I told him I wanted a divorce."

He looked surprised. "I thought you weren't sure about that. I thought it was 'complicated,'" he said, using her word.

She shrugged again. "I was mad, and it just sort of came out."

"What did he say?"

"He said he'd never give me one, that he would fight it."

Jeremy's features tightened. "Well, we'll see about that."

She huffed. "What do you mean 'we'? You don't have much say in it."

He shook his head, holding her gaze. "Nelly, your problems are my problems. If I hadn't—" He stopped and glanced away.

She looked at him sharply. "If you hadn't what?"

"Nothing."

Sam's words echoed in her head. _"Ask him."_

She couldn't turn a blind eye any longer. It was time. "What happened between us six years ago, Jeremy? You need to tell me."

He didn't answer.

"I have a right to know."

He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he regarded her again, his expression was one of regret. "I screwed up all those years ago. I was an idiot, but—"

"What do you mean you were an idiot, Jeremy?" She tensed. "What happened?"

He got a pained look and seemed agitated. "I was an insecure jackass. I loved you, but I..." He trailed off and ran a hand through his light-brown hair like he used to when it was longer. He looked like he would suddenly rather be anywhere else than where he was right now.

She was starting to get the picture. Maybe she'd known it all along. "But you wanted to see what was out there, right?" She swallowed, feeling the old, familiar hurt. "There were other girls a lot prettier than me, and there was no shortage of them throwing themselves at you. It was always that way."

He frowned. "We were so young, Nelly, and I was a horny bastard."

"So you used me that night at the pond." She felt an ache where her heart was. "You didn't even call me after that, did you?" She felt like a fool, and she was suddenly angry. "I remember that much, Jeremy. I remember the week after. You ignored me, wouldn't return my calls. We never even dated after that, did we? My God, were we even friends after that?"

He looked down, misery etched on his face.

"Look at me."

He didn't.

"Look at me, Jeremy."

He raised his eyes slowly to meet hers.

She could feel her face getting red, could feel the heat of shame and betrayal coursing through her body. "You were my _first_, and you knew it. You knew how I felt about you, and you took advantage of it."

"Nelly, you have every right to hate me, but, please, let me explain."

She laughed derisively. "What's there to explain? It's the age-old story of stupid teenage girls everywhere, right? I loved you, and you didn't love me back. I gave myself to you, and it meant nothing to you. It was just one romp in the hay of many!"

He looked around. They were garnering curious looks from a few people near them. He leaned in closer to her, voice low. "It wasn't like that. I did love you, but I—it scared me, what I felt for you. I wasn't ready for a commitment. For God's sake, Nelly, we were still teenagers and we were about to leave for college. You were gonna be thousands of miles away in San Diego. I didn't want to be tied down. I didn't want a girlfriend."

She felt the sting of tears and looked up at the tin-tiled ceiling of the diner, trying to make the tears go away.

He put his hand on top of hers again. "I'm so sorry, Nelly. I never wanted to hurt you, and I've regretted it so many times. You have no idea. If I could go back and do it over, I would. There were so many times I wanted to come to San Diego and find you, but I was a coward. Then I heard you were dating someone—Sam, I guess—and I..."

"What?"

"I didn't want to ruin anything for you. I didn't think I deserved you."

"Well, that's a convenient, noble excuse, isn't it?" she said, an acerbic bite to her tone.

"It's the truth." He squeezed her hand.

She pulled her hand away and sat back. "I have to go."

"Please..."

She slung her purse on her shoulder and stood.

"Nelly, wait."

She ignored him and left the diner. As she was about to open her car door, Jeremy came flying out of the diner and jogged up to her, the flaps of his suit jacket flaring in the hot summer breeze. "Come on, TJ. Wait."

She ignored him and started to open the door.

He grabbed her arm, his face just inches from hers, his eyes silvery and intense. "I want to make it up to you. I'll do whatever it takes to prove how much I care about you."

She scoffed. "Yeah, right. Save it for the next girl you fuck."

He squeezed her arm and seemed almost desperate. "Listen to me, Nelly. I'm not the same guy I was six years ago. You hear me? I'm not the same."

She searched his face. He looked so sincere. She'd never seen him this vehement about anything before.

"If you need help fightin' Sam about the divorce, if you decide that's what you want, I'll help you." He took her face in his hands. There was no one in the world in that moment except the two of them. "I'll help you fight him, TJ. I'll hire a lawyer and do whatever it takes." He rubbed his thumb over her lips. "And if things get too weird at your parents' house, you know you always have a place to stay with me."

She stared at him, her pulse quickening.

The bell of the diner's front door dinged when someone walked out, and Jeremy dropped his hands, breaking the current of energy passing between them.

TJ opened the car door.

"You've grown into a beautiful girl, Nelly. Don't ever believe anything else."

His words moved her, made her heart swell, but she tried not to show it. She was still hurt and angry. "Always the smooth talker. Right, Jeremy?"

He cupped her chin in his fingers. "I mean it, and I'll spend the rest of my life making you happy if you let me. I'll never hurt you again."

She didn't know what to say to that and ducked into the car before he could see the heat in her cheeks, hightailing it out of there before the gossips got any more fodder.

**XXXXXXXX**

It was eleven-thirty in the morning, and TJ was in the abandoned kitchen. She had just gotten up and dressed and was eating cereal. She could hear her mom doing something with the twins in the "nursery" because someone was _always_ doing something with the twins—feeding them, playing with them, changing their diapers, changing their clothes when the diapers leaked or the twins spit up, bathing them, or trying to get them to take a nap or go to bed. And all of it was made even more difficult because the twins often required all these things at different times, although she'd heard Sam and Fern talking about how great it was that the babies were finally starting to get on the same schedule. Apparently, the twins had completely exhausted both Sam and Fern the first couple of months after they were brought home from the hospital.

TJ was in the doghouse with her parents. The shit had hit the fan because, as predicted, they found out about her lunch with Jeremy. They acted like TJ had committed adultery or something. She resented them for forbidding her to see him—even though, ironically, she was extremely pissed off at him—and it made her rebel all the more. She refused to help with the twins and slept late most mornings, which was the height of laziness as far as her parents were concerned.

But she wasn't all bad. She had relented slightly and started helping out with the laundry. The amount of it that the babies produced alone was unbelievable, and she found herself doing a load every day just to keep up with them and the grown-ups in the household. Of course, she didn't get any credit for doing it. No one ever seemed to notice if she did anything good.

She knew her grace period was almost over, that her parents wouldn't tolerate her attitude much longer, and that angered her more. No one understood how painful her memory loss was, how utterly devastating. It was like they all thought she should just pick up where she left off, as though it wasn't that big of a deal and she ought to accept Sam and the twins with open arms. So, she felt sorry for herself because no one else did.

Some days she felt a crushing depression. She didn't know who she was anymore. She wasn't the confident teenager with college and an exciting future ahead of her, nor was she the mature young woman Other TJ became. She'd been so sure of things that summer before she was supposed to leave for San Diego, had known the path her life would take. Now she felt lost, like she was in limbo.

She had mixed feelings about Sam. She _still_ hadn't apologized to him. Every time that fact started to eat away at her and she resolved to say she was sorry, he would do something that irritated her. For the first time, she knew what it must be like to have a sibling, to have competition for her parents' attention and affection. Sam could do no wrong in Fern and Vern's eyes. He had a natural curiosity and was always willing to learn whatever they wanted to teach him. He was the son they'd never had.

Sam did things with Fern that TJ had always hated, that she thought were antiquated and represented everything she was trying to escape, like helping Fern weed the garden and pick vegetables while the twins napped in the shade. He would sit on a foam gardening pad similar to the one Fern used for her knees and scoot himself around on the ground among the rows of plants with no trouble at all.

There was hardly anything he couldn't do. It turned out there were lots of things on the farm that could be done sitting down. Of course, that didn't mean that he was always sitting down.

She would never forget the first time she walked into the kitchen and saw Sam rolling out pie dough. He liked the tedious process of helping Fern can vegetables and fruit and make cherry pies—something TJ usually steered clear of. He was at the breakfast bar, his hands covered with flour, and he had on one of her dad's goofy old aprons that said "Dude with the Food." What nearly gave TJ a heart attack, though, was that Sam was _standing_ up, and he was very, very tall.

She thought she was dreaming at first, maybe even sleepwalking since she'd just gotten up. Then, when she realized she was really and truly awake, she thought she was witnessing a miracle that everyone had forgotten to tell her about. She stood there frozen, totally in shock—speechless.

Sam looked up from his pie dough, the rolling pin looking strangely small in his large hands. He noticed her standing in front of him and frowned with concern. "TJ, are you okay?"

She still couldn't speak. She looked up at him, completely dumbfounded. She had to _look up_ at him because he was taller than she was. That was a rare occurrence. There were very few people in Tucker County that made her feel short.

Fern, who was behind him at the stove, turned around to look at TJ, an expression of concern that matched Sam's on her face. She wiped her hands on her apron. "Is something wrong, hon? You look like you've seen a ghost."

TJ still couldn't get her mouth to work.

It was clear the second Sam realized what was going on. A grin spread across his features, but he quickly tried to hide his amusement. He cleared his throat. "I, uh, have on leg braces, TJ, under my jeans. I can stand and walk with braces and crutches." He indicated a pair of forearm crutches leaning against the counter a foot away from him that TJ hadn't noticed.

The heat of a blush began to creep up her neck. She felt like an idiot.

Fern's eyes grew big, and she looked from Sam to TJ. "Oh, you thought..." Fern showed less restraint than Sam and started laughing outright. "Oh, my goodness. That's so funny! Oh, the look on your face!" She got so tickled she could hardly talk. "It's a miracle!" she shouted in between guffaws, holding up her hands like a holy roller. "Praise Jesus! He can walk!"

TJ glowered at her mother, and Fern tried to curb her laughter without much success. She turned back to the pot she was stirring on the stove, her shoulders still shaking. TJ thought she saw her surreptitiously wipe away a tear.

Sam pressed his lips together, obviously still trying not to laugh, but his dimples were a dead giveaway. "I haven't worn my braces much lately because it's hard to take care of the twins with them on. I can't carry the twins when I'm on my crutches."

TJ had nodded, mumbled something about taking a shower, and bolted from the room.

She gritted her teeth at the memory.

Sam even liked milking the cow. TJ remembered one of the few mornings she'd actually woken up before eleven with good intentions to redeem herself. She was going to milk the cow just to be nice, even though she abhorred milking. She was always afraid of getting kicked, and it didn't matter that the cow was in a milking stall—a tight, wooden enclosure that kept the cow contained.

Milking wasn't easy. There was a technique to it—you couldn't just go in and start squeezing the teats on the cow's udder—and it often seemed like the cow didn't like TJ and wouldn't give her any milk out of spite, no matter how much grain TJ tried to bribe her with.

TJ walked into the barn with a pail and was surprised to see Sam sitting in a wooden chair with a back on it that had obviously been modified for him. It looked like the legs of the chair had been sawed off to make it low enough for him to sit and milk. His long legs were crossed at his shins like she'd seen him do when he was in the car with her, and his wheelchair was beside him. He was scooted up as close as he could get to the milking stall. The cow's calf was in the stall next to her where she could see and smell it and know that it was safe, helping to keep her calmer for the milking.

Sam's back was to TJ, and he was murmuring softly to the cow through the wooden slats in the stall as his hands reached through a square opening in the slats to the cow's udder. The fingers of one hand worked in a rhythm as he squeezed his thumb and forefinger tightly at the top of the cow's teat and then brought the rest of his fingers down one at a time in a downward motion, finally squeezing with all of them together. A nice squirt of milk was his reward, which he caught in a small plastic bowl in his other hand. When the small bowl was full, he poured the milk into the larger milking pail, which sat next to him outside the stall.

TJ had been milking all her life. It was a chore, and she wasn't very good at it. She'd always milked with the large pail sitting directly beneath the cow's udder, and she couldn't even count the number of times she'd had a cow kick over a full pail of milk. She felt like slapping her forehead with her palm for not thinking of using the small bowl like Sam was doing.

Sam did it all like a pro, made it look easy, and he'd only been doing it for a few months. She knew this because her mother constantly bragged about him and how he must have been a farmer in another life because he learned things so quickly. _Gag._

Rocket, who sat perfectly still beside him, looked like he was watching Sam closely, like Sam was giving him a lesson in milking. The cow didn't even seem nervous that the dog was there, just kept lazily chewing mouthfuls of grain.

The easy, skillful motion of Sam's fingers mesmerized TJ. She could see why Faye, the dang cow, responded to Sam's velvety voice and the deft coaxing of his fingers because—Lord help her_—_TJ was starting to get a tingly feeling in her own nipples just watching.

Apparently, Sam sensed that he was under scrutiny. He turned to look at TJ over his broad shoulder, pausing in the milking. His expression was impassive, his jaw strong, his long hair curling slightly at his ears. He was beautiful.

TJ's heart did some sort of wild lurching thing, and her mouth suddenly went dry. How could anyone look so hot milking a cow? She hated the way her body reacted to him. It was disconcerting and left her with a longing she didn't know how to fill.

He'd never said anything to her about the night they'd fought, although she knew that she'd hurt him, and he hadn't said anything about her lunch with Jeremy. He was always unfailingly polite to her when it was called for, even though she'd been such a bitch. Otherwise, he seemed indifferent to her.

He hesitated a beat and then said, "Good morning."

She stood there like a dork, staring at him.

He waited a second for her to respond, but when she didn't, his mouth curved a little, giving her a hint of a dimple, and he turned back to his milking.

She hastily walked out of the barn on weak legs, aggravated by the effect he had on her. Maybe she really did want a divorce—maybe the sooner the better. He was driving her crazy. He _did_ make her uncomfortable, and she was glad she'd told him so. What did she need to apologize for?

_Because you called him a cripple,_ said her conscience.

She set down her spoon and got up from the table, carrying her half-full bowl of cereal to the sink. The knot of guilt in her stomach made it impossible to eat any more.

She wondered where Sam was. He often went to see clients or occasionally made trips to the courthouse or even the University of Kentucky's law library in Lexington, which was an hour and a half away from Moss Fork. Maybe he was off doing one of those things. She couldn't tell from the kitchen window if his black Honda was in the driveway or not, but he wasn't sitting at his laptop working and she didn't hear the rumble of his voice in the nursery with Fern. Perversely, now that he ignored TJ for the most part, she was interested in him and everything he did, no matter how much she pretended not to care or didn't _want_ to care.

He never seemed to take time for himself. In addition to helping out around the farm and his paralegal work, he was a hands-on father and spent a lot of time taking care of the twins. He had a large, black, sling-looking thing that he wrapped around his shoulders and chest when he needed to carry both babies at the same time while in his wheelchair, and he sometimes worked on his laptop that way, the twins perfectly content swaddled next to their daddy's chest.

She wondered what he would do once the twins were too big to fit in the sling anymore, but she had no doubt he would figure something out. He obviously had no macho hangups about wearing a device that mommies usually wore, but it wasn't like he needed to worry about his masculinity. Everything he did with the twins made him seem more manly somehow, and Vern had even commented in passing that he wished he'd been more hands-on when TJ was a baby. Vern was making up for it now by being a very attentive granddaddy and had even been known to change a diaper or two.

Sam didn't sleep very much. He stayed up long after everyone else went to bed to finish up research or whatever it was he did, and she'd heard him get up often to see to the twins in the middle of the night, sometimes more than once. The twins were sleeping longer, but there were still nights they woke him—and TJ—up. And the twins _never_ slept past five-thirty in the morning.

Sam kept the baby monitor in his room, but TJ's body seemed attuned to every noise the babies made, whether she wanted it to be or not. She could be in a deep sleep, dead to the world, and hear the twins, even with both her bedroom door and the doors to the dining room closed. She didn't tell anyone, pretending to sleep through it, but she had to admit it went against some primal instinct inside her not to answer their cries. She'd had trouble going back to sleep on more than one of these occasions—hence the reason she slept in on so many mornings like this one.

She finished washing her cereal bowl and set it in the drying rack, then glanced out the window above the sink and saw her dad pulling up in the tractor. She decided to take him a jar of iced tea as a sort of peace offering. She hated the tension that had been between them lately, especially since he had a summer cold and had been under the weather the last few days.

She grabbed the pitcher of sweet tea from the fridge and poured it in a Mason jar for her dad, then put the pitcher back in the fridge. It was a warm July day, and she had on shorts and a blue top that were both too loose. Most of her clothes were loose, and she really needed to buy some that fit. Her parents were nagging her to eat more, but she'd been good and kept the weight off. She felt like she deserved a little shopping spree. Maybe she would go into Lexington someday soon, maybe even have lunch with her friend Katrina.

Her dad's tractor was huge and was the all-purpose lifeline of the farm. Vern used it for everything—plowing and planting, baling hay, fertilization, clearing brush with the bush hog—the list was endless. It was his pride and joy, and he claimed it was nicer than any car in town.

The cab of the tractor was air-conditioned with tinted windows and even had a radio, a CD player, and a bunch of high-tech screens, knobs, and levers for using the various farm implements that would attach to the tractor. Unfortunately, Vern would also be making payments on the thing for the rest of his life.

TJ walked around the big rotary mower attached to the tractor—otherwise known as the bush hog—to where the door to the cab was, feeling dwarfed by the back tires of the tractor, which were over six feet tall. She smiled when her dad cut the ignition and the loud, vibrating diesel engine went silent. But when the door to the cab opened, it wasn't her dad that was sitting in there. It was Sam.

TJ was astonished and almost dropped the jar of tea she was carrying.

_**TBC**_


	19. Chapter 19

**_A/N: Thanks to my betas skzb, sallylovelinus and Catsluver. Need I say it? You guys rock!_  
**

**_Thanks to all of you who reviewed as guests and to everyone who is still reading. I know some of you are getting frustrated with TJ. You'll see some changes in her this chapter and even more in upcoming chapters, so I hope you don't give up on her yet! :)  
_**

**Chapter 19**

TJ felt like a cartoon character, like her eyes were about to bug out of her head at the sight of Sam sitting in the cab of the tractor where her dad was supposed to be.

The corners of Sam's mouth curved upward, and his eyes on her were bold and held a hint of amusement. "You brought me iced tea?" The look on his face said he knew the tea wasn't intended for him.

She looked at the glass jar in her hand like she'd never seen it before. "I, um, thought you were my dad," she muttered. She craned her neck and frowned up at him. "How did you..." She waved her hand, indicating the tractor.

He held onto the steering wheel with one hand and bent over. A minute later, he came up with the portable hand controls he'd used in her car. He showed the device to her and quirked his brows.

"Oh."

"I was bush-hogging for your dad. Fern made him stay in bed this morning because of his cold, so I told him I'd help out."

"Oh." She paused. "So, um, how are you gonna get down from there?"

He smiled, his eyes following a motion behind her. "I'll show you."

She looked over her shoulder and saw that Fern was pushing his wheelchair down the ramp leading from the back porch. TJ turned back to him. He showed her his cell phone, and she assumed that he had called Fern to let her know he was there and ready for his chair.

"Here you go, hon," said Fern, pushing the chair to where it was underneath where Sam was sitting several feet above. She rubbed her hands on her apron and looked harried. "I need to get back to them babies. Robby was startin' to fuss. I'll have lunch ready directly."

"No hurry about lunch," Sam replied.

"I'll come help you in a minute, Mama," TJ offered.

Fern was already almost through the kitchen door and waved a hand absently. "All right, sugar," she said, letting the screen door snick shut behind her. Fern certainly didn't seem to have any worries that Sam would somehow get himself back into his chair.

TJ arched a brow at Sam, who was, of course, still perched up high in the cab of the tractor. How in the hell was he gonna get down from there?

"Well?" she drawled.

He grabbed the steering wheel and carefully lowered himself down to the floor of the cab, then grabbed the seat cushion that TJ hadn't even realized he'd been sitting on and let it fall several feet below to his chair. Using the steps on the side of the tractor that led up to the cab as shallow ledges, he gingerly lowered his butt to each one, his long legs dangling down, his upper body muscles straining. His brow was creased in concentration.

TJ tensed, expecting him to fall any second, but he didn't.

When he reached the running board of the tractor that was almost even with his chair, he rested there for a second and fixed his seat cushion where it fit in the seat of his chair properly. Then, bracing one hand in between the gigantic treads of the back tire of the tractor and one hand on the frame of his chair, he transferred his body to the chair and then brushed his hands together like he was trying to get dirt off of them.

The whole process, getting from the cab of the tractor to his chair, hadn't taken but a minute and was an impressive feat of strength and adaptation.

TJ was amazed.

Once he was settled in his chair and he'd placed his Converse-clad feet on the footplate, he wheeled over to her and pried the Mason jar of iced tea from her hand. The fleeting touch of his fingers on her skin was warm in contrast to the cold, wet glass of the jar and sent a surge of something pleasant through her.

He took a long swig of the tea, his Adam's apple bobbing in a way that was unexpectedly sexy, and then looked up at her, squinting against the sun. He grinned, and his white teeth and cocky dimples made her stomach do a wild dance. "If you ever wake up before noon sometime, I'll show you how I get _in_ the tractor."

Then he wedged the jar of tea between his legs and pushed himself toward the house, leaving TJ staring after him.

**XXXXXXXX**

She sat on the stairs of the back porch, staring at the unlaced running shoes on her feet, feeling utterly dejected.

It was a breezy summer evening, and TJ wanted to take a walk to clear her head. She was more confused than ever. She felt betrayed by Jeremy for something he did six years ago that she didn't remember. Was there a statute of limitations on things like that? What if she _hadn't_ lost her memory? Would she be over it by now? Would she still feel so hurt? She was profoundly disillusioned and angry at herself for being so stupid. She should have known better.

"_You've grown into a beautiful girl, Nelly. Don't ever believe anything else," _he'd said. _"I'll spend the rest of my life making you happy if you let me. I'll never hurt you again."_

Pretty words. But, God help her, she wanted to believe him. He seemed so sincere, and there was no doubt he was more mature than the horny, teenage Jeremy of six years ago—well, except for the pot-smoking incident. That didn't change the fact that he had completely humiliated her and made her feel cheap. She'd foolishly lost her virginity to him. It had meant everything to her and nothing to him. And, idiot that she was, she still had feelings for him, even after everything. She wished she could turn them off like a faucet, that they would just go away along with the pain.

Then there was Sam. He made her heart race one minute and made her want to grit her teeth and clench her fists in vexation the next.

She wanted to get away from both Jeremy and Sam, needed time to think and sort out her feelings. A walk would have been a start. The only problem was, she couldn't remember how to tie her fucking shoelaces.

She continued to stare at the untied laces, fighting a rush of helplessness and panic. She could do this. She wasn't a damn three-year-old. She could tie her own shoes. Except that she couldn't. She picked up the laces, thinking that maybe it would just come to her like other things did, that she would just _know_ how to do it, but it didn't happen.

Elbows on her thighs, she rested her head in her hands, scrunching her fingers in her hair and not caring if it all fell out of her ponytail. Tears clogged her throat and trailed down her cheeks, and she finally gave in and let herself cry. Her life was so fucked up. Why had this happened to her, and what the hell was she supposed to do about it?

"Hey," said a husky voice.

She saw the front caster and footplate of Sam's wheelchair, along with his black Converse sneakers, in her peripheral vision. Great. He would show up at one of the most embarrassing, pathetic moments of her life—that she could remember, at least. She closed her eyes and sniffed. "Go away."

She heard the cooing sound of a baby and looked up to see that both of the twins were secured to Sam's chest in the baby sling. Both were wide-eyed and seemed perfectly content, and the little girl was blowing bubbles in her own slobber. _Gross._

Well, actually, it wasn't gross. The whole picture of Sam and the babies was pretty cute, but TJ was in no mood for them.

"So, uh, you going somewhere?"

"No," she answered defensively.

"You're just sitting here staring at your shoes?"

Her tone was tart. "Yes, Sam. I'm sittin' here starin' at my fuckin' shoes. You got a problem with that?"

He didn't say anything, just furrowed his brow and looked at her with solicitous concern.

Her throat constricted and she looked away. He was always so nice, and, this time, he got through her defenses. When she tried to speak, her voice went up an octave and came out shaky through a fresh batch of tears. "I..." She swallowed hard. "I can't tie my shoes."

There was a beat of silence, and then, before she really knew what was going on, one of Sam's palms was flat on the gray wooden planks of the porch, and the other was gripping the frame of his chair. He dipped his head and lifted his butt in the air, then carefully lowered himself down to the porch, straightening his legs and then scooting himself next to her. Once he was sitting next to her, he used his hands to move his legs so that his feet were on the step below hers, since his legs were longer.

The babies seemed unfazed by the fact that they had been briefly upside down during Sam's acrobatic maneuver to get to the floor and were still wrapped securely in the sling. The boy seemed fascinated by the bright mango color of TJ's T-shirt that had suddenly appeared next to him.

TJ sniffed, wiped her nose and cheeks, and gave Sam a wry look, eyeing the babies in the "pouch." "You're like a kangaroo."

He gave a small laugh, and TJ found the rumbling sound of it hypnotic. She tore her eyes away from his dimples and stared out at the vast backyard, green pasture, and mountains beyond. The sun was starting to go down, and it cast an ethereal orange glow over the scene. "Is there anything you can't climb in or out of?"

He smiled faintly. "Uh...yeah. But less than you might think."

The little girl began to fuss at her confinement, and Sam pulled her out of her cocoon, which made the whole sling ensemble off balance. "Uh, can you—do you mind holding her? I need to get Robby out, but it's hard for me to do that with one baby already in my lap."

TJ took the little girl from him and held her so that she was sitting up at arm's length on TJ's lap. The baby had on a pink, footed onesie that accentuated her little round belly. The onesie had a bumble bee print on it, and the feet of the garment were a bigger version of the bee's smiling face. The baby stared back at TJ with big, dark-brown eyes that were almost certainly never going to be any other color.

TJ remembered Sam's words. "_She has your eyes." _

He was right. There was no mistaking the resemblance, and it hammered home the fact that the baby she was holding was not someone else's. Despite herself, TJ was curious. "Can she—can she see my face?"

"I think so," Sam said as he got the little boy free of the sling and sitting sideways on his lap. The little boy was still staring at TJ's shirt. "Babies in general start to see faces around three months of age, and Robby and Sami Joy are three months when you adjust their age."

TJ frowned. "So, um, explain the age thing to me again."

"Well, technically, they're six and a half months old, if you go by the day they were born, which, as you know, was New Year's Day. But, when they were in the NICU, they were still considered to be like fetuses and continued to develop like fetuses. If you adjust their age, they would have been full term on April 30th, so that's what we go by. In that case, developmentally and sizewise, they're the equivalent of three-month-olds."

"Oh." She looked at the little girl in her lap and dabbed away a bit of slobber from the girl's mouth, then wiped the slobber on her jeans. "So, um, are they gonna be okay?"

Sam nodded. "So far, they're like the poster children for micropreemies. They were born at twenty-three weeks, which can and usually does cause a lot of complications. They had a rocky start, and it's a miracle they even survived. They both had to have heart surgery to repair holes in their hearts, and Robby had to have surgery on his eyes to save his sight, but they're strong and healthy now. We're lucky."

Her heart clenched at the thought of these sweet little babies having to go through major surgery. She looked at the baby boy, who was still staring at her shirt and sucking on his fist. "He can see okay?"

Sam's brow creased a little. "Yeah. When he's older, they'll do more tests on him. He responds to color and other visual stimulation normally so far. He may need glasses, but the pediatric ophthalmologist said to wait for now."

TJ let out a relieved breath. "All that must have been difficult to deal with. You must have been so worried, you know, when they had to have the surgeries and stuff."

His expression clouded. "It was a difficult time." He lifted the boy and kissed the tuft of dark hair on top of the baby's head, closing his eyes as if drinking in the scent of it. "I hurt a lot of people."

She couldn't imagine ever-so-polite Sam hurting anyone. "What do you mean?"

He seemed to lose his balance for a second and used a lightning quick hand to brace himself, still holding the boy steady by the material of the back of the baby's onesie with one hand. "I, uh, wasn't exactly father of the year after the twins were born. I kind of pretended they didn't exist. Your parents and Dean pretty much dealt with them and made decisions for their care."

Her eyes widened. "_You, _the guy my parents think can do no wrong. _You _pretended they didn't exist?" It was hard to believe because he was such a good dad now.

He gazed at her intently. "I'm not perfect, TJ. I'm lucky your parents even speak to me after some of the things I said about the twins...and about you."

She frowned. "What did you say?"

He gave a pained laugh and ran a hand through his long hair. "Oh, God. You don't wanna know. I kind of checked out for a while. Everything was so devastating, I guess I sort of shut down my emotions. I thought you were as good as dead and so were the twins, so that's pretty much how I acted, like all of you were already gone. I was a total dick."

She found that hard to believe.

"I didn't even name them," he said.

"You didn't?"

He looked regretful. "No."

She raised her brows. "_I _didn't pick those names, you know, before I went into the coma, did I?" She couldn't imagine that she had, but, half the time, nothing these days was what she would expect—especially when it came to anything within the last six years. Other TJ was someone whose actions she couldn't predict.

"Uh, no," he said with a small smile. "You didn't name them, either. My brother Dean did, and I think Fern and Heather helped."

"Heather...Dean's girlfriend?"

He nodded. "She's a close friend."

"The redhead?"

He looked hopeful.

She rolled her eyes. "I've seen her in pictures on my phone, along with pictures of Dean. Power of deduction."

He looked disappointed, and it irritated her. "It's not gonna come back," she snapped. "My memory is gone. It's like none of it—my life with you, college, being pregnant—ever happened."

He looked at her like he wasn't sure what brought on her ire.

"Stop getting your hopes up that it's gonna come back," she explained. "Stop getting that kicked-puppy look on your face every time you realize that I haven't remembered something. It makes me feel...defective."

There was a tick in his jaw and he stared out at the yard. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize I did that."

They sat in an uneasy quiet after that and TJ studied the baby in her lap—Sami Joy. She supposed she should start thinking of the twins by their names. It wasn't like she could change their names, unless she maybe went to court or something.

Sami Joy was blowing little bubbles in her slobber again, and when she moved her mouth, there was a hint of dimples like her daddy and brother. She was beautiful and adorable. TJ had the strong urge to hug the baby close to her chest and kiss her but resisted. "So," she asked, breaking the silence, "do you have blonds in your family?"

Sam looked taken off guard, like his thoughts had been far away. "What?"

She cleared her throat, forcing out the name. "Sami...Joy's hair." She nodded toward the baby's hair, running a hand over the downy blond locks on the baby's head.

His lips curved in amusement. "It's killing you to say that name, isn't it?"

She poked her tongue into her cheek, mouth quirking. "Yeah. I'm not too thrilled about the 'Joy' part."

He ducked his head almost shyly, still amused. "I told Dean you would hate it. I hate the 'Sami.'

She shrugged. "That part I don't mind."

"Yeah?" he asked, arching a brow. "Well, I don't think the 'Joy' is so bad."

She smiled a little.

"To answer your question, my mother was a blond and so is Dean, but it seems like his has gotten darker over the years."

For the kabillionth time in her life, TJ wondered about her biological family. Were there any blonds on her side? She turned her attention back to Sami Joy and gave in to her earlier urge. She held the baby closer, nuzzling her lips on the soft skin of the baby's forehead. She loved the little noises Sami Joy made, the little faint grunts and even the sound of her breathing.

The screen door of the kitchen snicked behind them, and TJ looked over her shoulder to see Fern starting toward them. Fern acted like it was nothing out of the ordinary that TJ was holding Sami Joy, but there was a pleased twinkle in her eye as she looked at Sam, and something unspoken passed between them.

TJ covertly rolled her eyes.

Fern spoke to Sam. "You want me to take 'em and start getting 'em ready for bed, hon?"

"Uh, yeah. They'll probably get cranky soon. I'll come help you."

"No, no," Fern protested. "Vern'll help me."

"You sure?" queried Sam, looking up at her.

"I'm sure."

"Thanks."

Fern nodded, bending down and taking Robby from Sam. TJ stood up and handed over Sami Joy, and Fern held one baby in the crook of each of her small arms. The twins looked a lot bigger in Fern's arms than they did in Sam's. There was a smile of pure bliss on Fern's face, leaving no doubt how much she loved her grandbabies.

Vern appeared at the door, chewing on a toothpick. He nodded a greeting in the direction of Sam and TJ and held the door open for Fern. The door snicked behind them, and TJ was left alone again with Sam. She was towering over him, still standing, and she wondered why she didn't excuse herself and head back into the house with her parents—but she didn't.

He took off the two pieces of black fabric from the baby sling that were hanging on him loosely and set them aside. Then he eyed her untied laces. "So, uh, you can't remember how to tie your shoes?"

She stiffened and felt her ears grow warm, instantly humiliated at the reminder.

"It's nothing to be embarrassed about." He paused, craning his neck to look up at her. "Would you—do you want me to show you how?"

"No," she answered abruptly.

He nodded, pursing his lips, and squinted toward the setting sun.

After a tense moment, not sure of what the hell she was doing or why, she sat next to him and let out a long sigh. "Okay. So show me."

"I think it'll make more sense if I show you from your perspective."

"What do you mean?"

He tugged on the denim of each of his legs, spreading them farther apart. "Come sit in front of me."

She was wary at the thought of being so close to him, but she moved to where he indicated, sitting on the step below him between his legs.

"Okay. Now put your foot up to where I can reach it."

She did as he said, pulling her foot up to where it was on the same step, her knee nearly even with her chin. She felt his arms come around her, his face next to hers. She could feel his warm breath on her cheek, and the smell of his breath wasn't unpleasant. It was nondescript, like bottled water.

He hesitated, tensing almost imperceptibly, and then cleared his throat. "So, the first thing you're gonna do is grab each lace and pull them tight so that your shoe won't be too loose."

His voice vibrated in her ear, causing a slight buzz along her spine.

"Then you're gonna cross the right and left lace, like this," he said, doing so as he spoke.

She watched his long, tapered fingers at work.

"Then you're gonna make a bunny ear with one of the laces, like this," he demonstrated.

She smiled at his choice of words. "Bunny ear?"

There was a flash of white teeth and a dimple. "I guess I've been hanging out with the babies too much," he said.

She didn't know why, but that made her suddenly feel warm and flushed.

"Okay. So now you're gonna loop your other lace around the bunny ear and then pull it through the hole, like this"—again, he demonstrated—"and then pull it tight." He pulled his hands away and rested his chin on her shoulder. "Then you're good to go."

She sat there, not sure of how much of the shoe-tying lesson had actually sunk in. His closeness was so distracting.

"Okay," he said, raising his chin from her shoulder. "Now it's your turn."

She didn't want to try tying the laces in front of him. What if she couldn't do it? She couldn't believe this was happening, that she couldn't remember how to do such a simple thing.

He seemed to sense her reluctance. "Just try it, Teej," he said softly. "It's no big deal if you don't get it on the first try. I'll help you."

She switched feet, pulling her other leg up, and he switched sides, too, warming the other side of her cheek with his breath, his hands braced on the top step. Mercy, he made it hard to concentrate.

She grabbed the laces like he'd shown her, pulling them tightly, then crossed them over each other. She could feel Sam tense behind her and knew he was nervous for her, that he wanted her to succeed.

She made the bunny ear—because how could she forget that part?—and then couldn't remember what she was supposed to do next. It was crazy that she'd forgotten how to tie her shoe, and she felt so stupid.

"Just wrap the other lace around and pull it through," he coaxed.

She tried but made a mess of it. "Fuck!" She dropped her head in her hands.

"Just try it again." He was annoyingly patient.

"I can't."

"Yes, you can."

It was so frustrating and embarrassing. She felt her throat tighten and the sting of more tears. "This sucks."

"Just give it another try. I'll show you again." He did, the whole time speaking into her ear using the same velvety voice he used when he was talking to Faye the cow.

His voice eased some of TJ's dismay, and she mused that she and Faye apparently had the same reaction to him. She wondered if her boobs would start squirting out milk soon.

When he was done with the second demonstration, he untied her shoe and held out the laces for her. She sighed and began again. When she got to the bunny-ear part, she wrapped the other lace around without trying to overthink it, pulled the loop through the hole she'd made, and tightened it into a bow. _Success_. She huffed out a triumphant breath.

"Good. You did it," he purred into her ear, a smile in his voice.

She untied the shoe and tied it again, just to make sure she could. And then she did it again and again.

"I think you've got it," he said, a hint of wry amusement in his tone.

She turned her face toward his cheek, getting a potent whiff of his hair and skin. Lord have mercy, he smelled fresh and clean, like aftershave and his shampoo that had freaked her out—and very male. She had the almost overpowering urge to kiss him. On his neck. In the curve of his neck just under his ear. The urge was so strong she felt a little weak and shaky.

He turned his face toward her and brushed his lips on the corner of her mouth. She felt a surge of electricity and her heart went crazy, pumping her blood through her body at breakneck speed. She panicked, disturbed by her reaction to him, and turned her face away, feeling breathless. "What..." Her voice sounded weird and thready, and she cleared her throat and forced herself to sound strong. "What are you doing?"

"Kissing my wife," he said into the curve of her neck, leaving little nibbles in his wake.

She tore herself away from him and jumped up, facing him and suddenly furious. "Don't touch me! I don't even know you!"

He closed his eyes and grimaced, almost like he was in pain. He had his hands braced on the top step again, shoulders rigid, and he looked so tortured and handsome with his long hair and soulful face. For a second, she felt like she was looking at some character from a Gothic novel.

"I'm sorry," he said, but he didn't sound very sincere. He sounded restrained, like he was holding back a powerful emotion.

She was panting, her body shaking, her fists clenched. "I can't—" She shook her head, fighting tears. She didn't know whether she was mad at him for taking advantage of the situation or herself for wanting him to. "I don't _know _you," she said again.

His eyes pinned her in place, dark and brooding. "Your body knows me."

"Screw you." She brushed past him as she stalked up the steps, half expecting him to try and stop her, but he didn't. She left him sitting there—a lone, shadowy figure against the setting sun.

**XXXXXXXX**

Sam stared at the sunset without really seeing it, trying to keep his temper and his body under control. Every muscle, every cell ached for TJ. Her skin was so soft, her body so warm, and the scent of her—God. He loved her so much. It had been so long since he'd been able to touch her and kiss her like that, and he'd lost himself in the euphoria of it, of the feel of his lips brushing against her skin.

This evening was the first real conversation he'd had with her since she'd woken up from the coma, and he'd blown it. He was pissed at himself for losing control, and he was frustrated with her, too.

She'd wanted him to touch her, at least for that fleeting moment. He knew she did—he'd sensed it and felt her holding back—because he _knew_ her. He should have let her make the first move. She'd been so close to doing so, but he'd jumped the gun like some geeky adolescent.

He'd be a liar if he said that her calling him a cripple that first night she was home hadn't hurt—and he was furious when he found out about her lunch with Jeremy—but he hadn't said anything. It was clear that the more Fern and Vern or Sam pushed TJ to accept him and the twins, the more resistant and rebellious she became; so he'd been trying to give her space, especially since he'd been such an idiot and forbidden her to see Jeremy. He'd been angry when he said it, but he should have known that it wouldn't go down well with her, that it would only make things worse.

He ran his hands through his hair and took a deep breath, feeling disheartened. He was about to get back in his chair and go see if Fern and Vern needed any help with the twins, when his phone rang. He fished it out of his pocket and saw that it was Dean. "Hey."

"_What's wrong?" _Dean barked.

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother's perceptiveness. "Nothing."

"_Yeah, right. What's wrong?"_

Sam sighed, knowing Dean wouldn't let it go. "TJ couldn't remember how to tie her shoes."

"_Oh, my God!" _Dean said with feigned drama. _ "That's—that's friggin' horrible!"_

"Don't be a jerk. It was horrible for her. She was really upset and discouraged by it."

"_She still being a bitch?" _

"Her world has been turned upside down, Dean," Sam defended. He was irritated by Dean's callousness. "She needs time. She hasn't even been home two weeks yet."

"_Huh," _Dean mused._ "Yeah. I guess it's no worse than you were when you woke up paralyzed. It took you a lot longer than a couple of weeks to finally suck it up and get on with life. And don't even get me started on what you were like after the twins were born. You were a major dickbag."_

"Thanks for the reminder," Sam said sarcastically.

"_Maybe we should have Bobby punch her in the jaw," _Dean suggested._ "It worked for you."_

Sam snorted. "I'd rather have him punch Jeremy in the jaw."

"_Right. Sounds like a plan. I'm sure Bobby wouldn't mind."_

"Probably not."

Dean gave a faint chuckle.

"Dean, I..." Sam hesitated.

"_What?"_

Sam let out a long breath. "I fucked up. I was showing TJ how to tie her shoes, and we were really close to each other, and I kissed her—sort of. It was mostly on her neck." He cleared his throat, feeling a bit awkward for talking about this with Dean. "I mean, it wasn't a _real_ kiss, but it freaked her out and pissed her off. I swear though, at least for a second, she wanted me to kiss her."

"_Of course she did. You're a stud, Sammy. If she was attracted to you before, why wouldn't she be now?"_

"Yeah, well, I probably just set myself way back with her. To her, it's like some stranger just tried to feel her up."

"_Look, I don't care if she doesn't remember you. You're the same guy she fell in love with the first time. There's no reason she won't again. Just keep pouring on that socially-inept charm of yours and she'll be putty in your hands."_

Sam ignored Dean's ribbing. "Jeremy wasn't in the picture before."

"_Dude, he's not a threat. I met him. I knew from the get-go that he was a douche."_

Another eye roll. "No, you didn't. You liked him."

"_If I'd known he was gonna try to move in on my brother's wife and take advantage of the fact that she has amnesia from a fuckin' stroke, I wouldn't have."_

"Right."

"_The point is, she'll eventually see that he's a douche, too. Like you said, she hasn't been home very long. Give her time to adjust and give Jeremy enough rope to hang himself. She'll come around. And don't beat yourself up about trying to kiss her, Sam. You love her. She's your wife."_

"Yeah." Sam closed his eyes for a second, feeling a wave of intense longing for TJ. "So, how's Heather?" he asked, changing the subject.

"_How are Sami Joy and Robby?"_

"That bad, huh?" said Sam, not answering Dean's question. "Heather's still hell-bent on hunting?"

"_How are Sami Joy and Robby?" _Dean repeated pointedly.

Sam shook his head and let the subject of Heather drop, feeling bad that things weren't going well for Dean in that department. He talked to Dean once or twice a week and sent him videos and pictures of the twins often, so it wasn't like there was anything that Dean didn't already know about his niece and nephew, but Sam told him about them anyway—and when the conversation ended several minutes later, Sam felt better and was glad that his brother had called.

**XXXXXXXX**

"Rise and shine, girl," said Fern. She was ruthlessly shaking TJ awake.

TJ pulled the pillow over her head and groaned.

"No more sleeping in. You and I are goin' for a walk."

"God Almighty, Mama. What time is it?"

Fern jerked the pillow off TJ's head and pulled back the covers, letting in the morning chill. "It's six-fifteen in the morning. Come on. We're gonna take a walk and get some fresh air."

TJ shivered and curled into a ball. "Why can't we go later?"

"Because unlike some people I know, I've got seventeen bazillion things to do today and I can't wait until noon for you to wake up."

"I've never slept until noon," TJ groused.

"Eleven is close enough to split a hair," Fern said dryly. "Now, come on."

TJ sighed with annoyance and then got out of bed, doing as her mother told her. She threw her hair in a ponytail and got dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt. She fought a blush as she expertly tied her running shoes, trying not to remember Sam's lesson last night—or the feel of his arms around her, or his ever-so-light lips kissing the corner of her mouth and trailing kisses along her neck.

She tried to drum up a decent amount of righteous, indignant anger that he'd taken advantage of the situation, that he had no right to be so intimate with her because he was still a stranger to her, but her heart wasn't in it. She couldn't get those haunting, intense eyes of his out of her head. She tried thinking of Jeremy, but his face kept morphing into Sam's.

She trudged to the kitchen and started brewing herself a cup of hot Earl Grey tea with the intention of taking the mug with her on the walk.

Her dad was sitting at the kitchen table, reading a newspaper. "Well, look who the cat dragged in." He was entirely too chipper.

TJ, not a morning person in the best of times, only grunted grumpily in reply.

Vern made a dramatic sweeping motion with his hand. "Griselda the Grunch, in the flesh."

She glared at him, and he chuckled with twinkling light-blue eyes, then went back to his paper.

Fern came in carrying a twin in each arm. She had dressed them in little tiny jeans, soft tiny tennis shoes, and fleecy jackets—one pink and one blue—since there was a chill in the morning air. The temperature had been milder than usual because of all the rain they'd been getting, although things had dried out since last week.

Fern eyed the mug in TJ's hand. "Uh-uh. You can't take that with you. You're gonna carry one of the twins."

TJ frowned. "No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

"Don't you have a stroller for them?"

Fern nodded. "We have a jogging stroller, but they can't sit up in it."

"Well, can't you just strap them in?"

Fern huffed in exasperation. "They're still too little. The harness is too loose and won't keep them secure. Now, put that mug down and take one of these babies. Your pick."

TJ wanted to be pissed, but the babies looked so cute in Fern's arms that the sight of them defused her annoyance. She chose Robby, since she'd held Sami Joy last night, and reached out to him. His eyes locked onto her face, much like they had when she'd held him the day she came home from the hospital. His eyes were much lighter than Sami Joy's, and TJ was momentarily lost in them. He smiled a gummy smile at her, dimples enchanting her, and before she really realized what she was doing, she took him from Fern and was kissing his cheek.

He loved it and kicked his little legs in delight. He smelled so good, like Baby Magic body wash and the special baby detergent that TJ used to wash his and Sami Joy's clothes.

TJ was always amazed at how light the babies were, but Robby was solid and compact—all chubby arms and legs with round, diapered bottom and belly. Fern was holding Sami Joy facing outward. Sami Joy's little bottom was resting on Fern's arm and Fern's other hand was securely across the baby's chest.

TJ tried to hold Robby the same way, but he had no interest in the outside world. He fussed, and when she moved him up and snuggled him on her shoulder, he quieted and seemed content.

Fern pressed her lips together and shared a look with Vern, clearly holding in a smile. Then she was all business. "All right. Let's get goin'. I don't have all day."

When they were outside, Fern seemed even more in a hurry, walking so fast TJ had a hard time keeping up, even though her legs were much longer. So much for a leisurely stroll. TJ figured they would head for the road, but Fern took off across the grass, heading in the direction of the pond.

After walking a short distance, they headed uphill, and it didn't take long for TJ's out-of-shape body to get winded. "Lord, Mama, slow down. It's not a race."

Fern had no mercy. "No pain, no gain. You got to build up your stamina."

TJ bristled, and when they crested the hill they were on, she'd had enough. "Mama! I can't—"

"Shhh!" Fern was looking over her shoulder at TJ, an urgent frown on her face. "Okay. We'll stop here." Her voice was hushed.

TJ was surprised at Fern's abrupt change of heart and shook her head in confusion. Sometimes her mother was an enigma. TJ sat down under a nearby catalpa tree to catch her breath and shifted Robby to her other shoulder. Fern sat next to her and lifted Sami Joy to where the baby's mini Nike tennis shoes danced on Fern's thighs. Sami Joy loved the chance to use her legs and cooed and smiled.

TJ wiped sweat off her brow and wished she had a drink of water. She instinctively looked toward the nearest source of water—the distant pond. It was then that she saw Sam. He was lying on his stomach, a long, narrow blue mat underneath him, long legs stretched out and clad in gray sweatpants. His upper body was bare, and his chiseled muscles glistened in the rising sun. It was a stunning picture—Sam in the foreground with the mirror-like pond reflecting the sunrise over the mountains in the background. Rocket completed the scene, faithfully lying a few feet from Sam with his head on his paws.

Sam's palms were flat on the mat, and he lifted his upper body gracefully into something that started out as a pushup but morphed into something more erect. His head was arched back, throat exposed, like he was seeking the sun. After holding the pose for a minute or two, he flowed into another pose and then to another, sometimes using his hands to adjust his legs into various positions. There seemed to be some kind of order to it, and then he ended up on his stomach again and started the whole series of poses over from the beginning.

His body was gorgeous—lithe and sinewy despite the fact that he was so big—and he moved like a dancer. The fact that he couldn't use his legs was irrelevant. TJ's eyes were glued to him, and she was all but drooling, her blood thrumming inside her.

Robby, who was still cuddled on TJ's shoulder, grew restless, breaking her trance. She adjusted him so that he was sitting on her lap where he could look around, and he seemed satisfied.

TJ cleared her throat, her gaze traveling unwillingly back to Sam in the distance. She tried to keep her tone casual. "What—what's he doing, some kind of Tai Chi or something?"

"Yoga," answered Fern. She was watching Sam and turned her head to look at TJ. "You're the one that got him into it."

TJ was surprised. "_I _did?"

Fern nodded and focused back on Sam. "It had a profound effect on him. He told me it was one of the things that helped him deal with his paralysis. It helped him accept his body the way it is now."

TJ was stunned. It never failed to flummox her, learning these things Other TJ did. TJ barely even knew what yoga was. It wasn't like anyone in Moss Fork did it. The thought was laughable. She frowned. "How did he get to the pond?"

"His wheelchair," said Fern, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

TJ saw his chair then, sitting not far from his mat. She'd been so focused on him that she hadn't noticed it. "Oh."

"It's quite a workout for him, wheeling over the grass and the hill. It never ceases to amaze me how strong he is."

As if to reiterate Fern's point, Sam went into a handstand, displaying exceptional balance and strength. His legs were hanging down and he was sort of in a jackknife position, his bare feet brushing the mat. Every muscle in his upper body seemed to be straining to its limit.

"Mercy," said Fern with admiration. "Would you look at that."

It hit TJ then that bringing her here was yet another ploy by her mother to show how great Sam was, and TJ was suddenly angry. "You knew he would be out here. That's why you made me get up so goldang early."

Fern was still watching Sam. "Mm-hm," she agreed, unrepentant. "He's out here almost every day at this time, since he gets up so early with the twins. He feeds them breakfast and then goes out to do his exercising."

"Dammit, Mama," TJ said with heat. "Stop forcing him on me. You can't make me love him."

"Shh. Keep your voice down," chided Fern. Rocket had lifted his head and pricked his ears, looking in their direction. "We don't want Sam to see us. It'll interrupt his meditation."

TJ's eyes widened in aggravation. "His medi—I don't care about his _meditation_," she hissed. "Did you hear what I said? You can't make me fall in love with him."

"No. I figure he'll do that all on his own," Fern said matter-of-factly.

TJ's anger escalated.

"I'm just enjoying the scenery," said Fern, ignoring TJ's fury, "and I thought you might like it, too."

"Well, you thought wrong." TJ held Robby more securely and heaved herself up to a stand. "I'm goin' back to the house."

"All right, hon." Fern hadn't taken her eyes off of Sam, and a lascivious smile played across her lips. "I think I'll stay another minute."

TJ huffed. "That's disgusting, Mama. He's your son-in-law."

"Lucky me."

"Good Lord," said TJ, making a show of being scandalized and repulsed. Then she stalked off—but not before sneaking one last look at Sam.

**XXXXXXXX**

The text alert on TJ's phone pinged, and she grabbed it from her nightstand. The text was from Jeremy.

"_Meet me at the pond. Please, Nelly."_

Her heart lurched. It was ten-thirty at night. She had refused Jeremy's other recent pleas for clandestine meetings because she was still hurt and upset with him over the big revelation that he'd used her all those years ago. She hadn't returned any of his phone calls or texts.

Her phone pinged again. _"PLEASE." _

She started to turn her phone off when another text quickly followed the last. _"We need to talk."_

She sighed. Truth be told, she missed talking to him, and she wondered what he had to say. It was a bad idea, she knew. He would probably sweet talk her and have her eating out of the palm of his hand, and she wasn't ready to forgive him just yet.

Against her better judgment, she texted him back. "_Be there in 15."_

She scrambled out of her pajamas into some jeans and flip-flops, then snuck out of the house. When she got to the pond, Jeremy's ATV was parked nearby and he was playing his guitar. The moon was young, but it was bright enough in the clear country sky to still give off plenty of light, illuminating him. He looked so handsome, like some kind of an apparition—too good to be true. The moonlight reflected off the still waters of the pond, and she knew that his beautiful eyes would match it, that they would be silvery like the water.

She stood and watched him, listening to the haunting melody he played and the gentle, silky sound of his voice. When he was done, she said, "Is that something you wrote?"

He looked up from his guitar and smiled a relieved, welcoming smile that made her heart leap. "Hey, Nelly," he purred.

"Hey," she replied shortly, remembering that she was mad at him.

His manner was suddenly humble. "Thank you for comin'."

She shrugged noncommittally.

He patted the grass, like he wanted her to sit beside him, but she remained standing, arms folded over her chest.

"You have every right to be angry with me." He bowed his head, obviously contrite. "Please," he said, "come talk to me. I can't stand this, Nelly." There was a quiet plea in his voice that reached out to her.

She let out a long sigh and sat down beside him, hugging her knees to her chest. Sure enough, now that she was close to him, she could see that his eyes were dark and silvery in the moonlight. She tried to focus on them, tried to remember how the sight of them used to make her blood sing, but she couldn't feel it. A pair of hazel eyes kept clouding her memory.

Jeremy idly strummed the tune he'd been playing, but he hadn't taken his gaze from her.

"Is that something you wrote?" she asked again.

"Yeah. You like it?"

She nodded. "It's kindly sad," she drawled, not caring if saying "kindly" instead of "kind of" made her sound like a hillbilly. There was no need to put on airs around Jeremy. They were cut from the same cloth.

He looked down at his guitar. "Yeah. It is sad."

She listened for a while as he played, getting the impression that his soul was in the song. It sounded so forlorn and lonely.

She couldn't help but feel sympathy for him. She was such a sucker. "What's wrong, Jer?"

"What's right?" he asked, using the words she'd used when they had lunch together.

She had an urge to touch him, to comfort him somehow, but refrained, hugging her knees tighter instead.

"My mama is batshit crazy, I'm stuck in a boring job crunching numbers instead of playing music like I've dreamed of all my life, and I deeply hurt my best friend and the only girl I've ever loved—who, incidentally, is married to another guy." His eyes searched hers. "How did things get so fucked up, Nelly?"

A knot stuck in her throat, and she focused on the moon, letting its light burn into her eyes. Then she shrugged. "You think this is what makes people get old, being stuck in a life that they didn't choose? I mean, maybe it's our hearts that get old way before our bodies ever do—aching over things that should have happened but didn't, dreams that never got fulfilled."

His smile was mournful. "That's pretty profound of you, Nelly." He strummed a chord on his guitar. "Maybe we'll make a songwriter out of you, yet."

She snorted and braced her hands on the ground. "I'm no songwriter. I'm a scientist. That's all I've ever wanted to be."

He nodded and set his guitar down, then ran his fingers over the soft blades of grass, finally letting his hand rest on top of hers. She stiffened, and he looked at her sharply. "Are you ever gonna forgive me?"

"I don't know." She pulled her hand out from underneath his and hugged her knees again in a protective hunch.

He exhaled a puff of air through his lips. "I'm sorry I was such a bastard, Nelly. I never meant to hurt you. I wish I could go back in time and do it over."

She swallowed, not knowing what to say. As far as she was concerned, he _had _gone back in time. To her, it still felt like it wasn't that long ago that they'd made love—or, at least, it was love on her part.

He'd just said she was the only girl he'd ever loved. There was a time that would have made her the happiest girl in the world, but it didn't now. It just confused her even more.

There were a few minutes of awkward silence, and then he spoke. "So, how's it going, livin' with Sam and the twins?"

"Still weird."

He nodded sympathetically.

"Sam works his ass off trying to pay my medical bills. I feel guilty that he's this stranger to me and yet I'm such a burden to him. I feel like a slacker, like I need to find a job or something—doing what, I don't know. I guess I could apply at the Tastee Freeze or the Dairy Queen."

"You'd get all the free ice cream you wanted," Jeremy surmised, a hint of teasing in his tone.

"Yep. There's always a silver linin', right?" she drawled sarcastically. "Maybe Donna would hire me back at the diner."

His gray eyes surveyed her, his expression thoughtful. "You still remember how to count—add and subtract?"

She gave a short, wry laugh. "Yeah. I think so."

"You can come work with me at the bank."

She arched a brow and studied his face. He was serious. It was the perfect solution, and she felt something lighten within her, like a weight was being lifted off her shoulders. She could contribute to the medical bills and, at the same time, working at the bank would be a legitimate excuse to get away from the house—and away from Sam, the twins, and her parents' disapproval.

"As a teller?" she asked.

He shrugged. "We don't really need any tellers right now, but you could be my assistant. I know I could find something for you to do."

Impulsively, she hugged him. "Thanks, Sucks. You don't know how much that helps me out."

She pulled back, but he surprised her by taking her face in his hands. His moonlight eyes held her gaze. "I've missed you, Nelly. More than you'll ever know."

She tensed.

"I know you're mad at me—and I deserve it—but I want you to know that I really, really want to kiss you right now."

"Don't," she said, suddenly feeling a little panicked.

What the hell? She'd never sparked a guy's interest before in her life—and certainly no one's romantic love. She'd always been everyone's buddy, not girlfriend material, and now two hot guys kept professing their love for her and wanting to kiss her?

She loved Jeremy, despite what he'd done, and she always would; but the way Sam affected her, the way her body reacted to him, shook her resolve where Jeremy was concerned. Her feelings for Jeremy had always been steady and constant, and now she was questioning the nature of them—not to mention the fact that he had betrayed her.

He stared at her a moment longer, idly rubbing his thumbs along her jaw. Then he lowered his hands in defeat. "It was six years ago, Nelly."

"Not for me, it wasn't."

He nodded, hanging his head.

She cleared her throat and changed the subject. "So, when do I start my new job?"

"It's up to you. You wanna start Monday?"

"Yep. Monday sounds good."

_**TBC**_


	20. Chapter 20

**_A/N: Happy Season 8 Premiere Day, kids! Woo hoo! I'm soooo excited. Not sure I like the switch to Wednesday night, but I'll deal. And, as always, thanks to those who reviewed as guests and to all of you for reading, even though I know TJ is sorely trying your patience._  
**

**_Muchas gracias to my wonderful betas sallyloveslinus, skzb, and Catsluver. I continue to learn from you guys with every chapter._  
**

**Chapter 20**

TJ found Sam alone—well, except for Rocket, who was usually by his side. Sam was sitting in his wheelchair at the desk her parents had set up for him in a corner of the living room, working on his laptop. Fern could be heard in the dining room tending to the twins, but the pocket doors—doors that slid on a track into the wall when they were open—were shut, and Fern's cooing and chatter were muted.

After the show Sam had put on doing yoga, TJ's curiosity concerning his paralysis had finally gotten the better of her, and she'd done some research. It turned out there were so many things she didn't know and so many possibilities. There were different levels of spinal cord injury, and they could be either complete or incomplete. She speculated that Sam's was probably incomplete since he was so strong and got around so well. He could walk with crutches, and there was the obvious fact that he had fathered the twins, even though her mom said it was a miracle.

Some injuries affected bladder, bowel, and sexual function in men. She'd been embarrassed to read about catheters and all the other things that some guys with SCI had to deal with and couldn't imagine Sam having those issues—and she couldn't ever imagine herself having a conversation with him about them, either.

She felt even worse about calling him a cripple after she read about how it wasn't really correct to say "handicapped" or "crippled," that those words were outmoded and offensive to some (even if you weren't trying to be a bitch), and that it was better to use "people-first language." It was better to say "someone with a disability" than to call them "disabled," and it was better to say that someone _has_ paraplegia instead of that they _were_ a paraplegic, that calling them a paraplegic defined them by their disability instead of the person they were. One web site went so far as to simply refer to able-bodied people as "walkers" and those who used wheelchairs as "non-walkers."

She would have to be even more careful how she phrased things around Sam, which was daunting, since being tactful had never been her forte. She felt yet another jab of guilt that she'd never apologized to him for what she said the night of their fight. It was time to quit making excuses and do what she knew was right. It was time she gave him a long-overdue apology.

He paused typing on his laptop and pinched the bridge of his nose, grimacing.

She started to have second thoughts. He looked kind of haggard right now. Maybe she shouldn't disturb him. It probably wasn't a good time. She started to go, even as her conscience was shouting, _Chicken!_

"TJ?" Sam's voice was quiet and husky, and he was still pinching the bridge of his nose.

How had he known she was there? She'd been quiet as a mouse. He looked up at her, wincing a little.

"I, um...I don't mean to interrupt you."

"You're not. What did you need?"

Lord, he was always so nice. "I—I just wanted to talk to you for a minute."

He kept his face impassive. "Okay. Maybe we should sit on the sofa?"

Her stomach clenched. She didn't want to sit next to him. He made her uneasy and he was distracting. Then again, she didn't like towering over him when she was standing either, and the distance between them now was awkward. She was standing across the room from him. "Okay," she agreed reluctantly.

He wheeled over and transferred himself easily to the brown tweed sofa. TJ sat down on it with him and made sure there was a large gap between them. His eyes glinted with a hint of amusement, and his mouth twitched, showing a flash of dimples.

He was so good-looking. It put her at a disadvantage and made her feel self-conscious. She tried to ignore the magnetic effect he had on her and fidgeted for a second with the cuticle of her fingernail. Then she let her hands fall in her lap, forcing herself to look him in the eye. "I, um, owe you an apology."

His brows went up. "For what?"

"I was—what I said to you the night we fought, when I was coming back from Jeremy's—I didn't mean it."

He studied her for a minute. "It's been awhile. I didn't realize you were that bothered by it."

"I..." She cleared her throat. "I shouldn't have waited so long to apologize. I'm sorry that I said you were a cripple."

He shrugged. "I am a cripple." He stated it like it was a fact, and there was no angst or bitterness when he said it.

She was surprised by his response. "I—well, I shouldn't have said it. I spoke in the heat of anger, and I know it's not the PC thing to say. I shouldn't have compared you to Jeremy, either."

Rocket jumped up onto the sofa between them, and she absently started rubbing his head between his short, floppy ears.

Sam seemed to freeze for a moment, watching her pet Rocket with an unreadable expression on his features. She realized then what she was doing, that it was the first time she'd ever really petted Rocket or shown him affection, and she quickly stopped, placing her hand in her lap.

Rocket wasn't having it and nudged his head under her arm, obviously wanting her to pet him more. She held her hand stiffly in her lap, not giving in, although the woeful look on Rocket's furry face made it hard. Finally, he gave up with a disgruntled snort and lay down between her and Sam.

Sam drew in a slow breath through his teeth and exhaled. "First of all, I don't care how you say it—'crippled,' 'handicapped,' 'disabled,' whatever—it's all the same to me. It used to bother me when I first got hurt, but I'm over it now. It's a part of my life, and I've accepted it. You don't have to be politically correct around me. I won't get offended. Although..." he paused, a hint of disappointment coloring his tone, "...I know you said what you said that night because you wanted to hurt me."

She looked down at her hands, feeling remorse and shame. For a split second, at least, she _had_ wanted to hurt him, and the thought sickened her now. She swallowed and made herself look directly at him. "I'm really sorry."

He nodded in acceptance. "I'm sorry, too."

She frowned, perplexed. "For what?"

"For kissing you the other night."

"Oh." Her anger had lessened over that, if not the memory of it. "You apologized that night."

His smile was faint and rueful. "Yeah, but I didn't mean it."

She let out a small laugh. "But you do now?"

"Yes. It was too soon. You're not ready for anything like that, and I was a jerk for doing it."

She felt a bit of a blush coming on for some reason and looked down. "It's okay," she muttered.

A charged silence stretched between them, and TJ felt awkward. She was about to excuse herself when Sam spoke. "Why did you compare me to Jeremy that first night? Do you think he's whole and I'm not?"

She thought about that for a minute. "No," she answered honestly. "I don't think that at all. I—I was tired and confused and really, really pissed off that you were forbidding me to see Jeremy, that you were being so...high-handed. That stuff that I said—comparing the two of you and you being a cripple—it just came out. I didn't mean to be so cruel, and I felt bad about it as soon as I said it."

His dark eyes searched hers for a long time, and she felt a stirring of heat in her core. She glanced away from his intense gaze.

"You said that you feel uncomfortable around me. My disability makes you uneasy?"

She focused on his hand, following the motion of his fingers as he absently scratched Rocket between the ears and on the chest. Sam's fingers were like a magician's—lithe and fluid. She wanted him to touch her, and the warmth in her core intensified. "Yes," she answered. "You make me uncomfortable." It was the truth, but the reason wasn't solely because of his disability. However, she wasn't about to admit how her body reacted to him.

Slowly, she lifted her eyes to his face and cleared her throat. "I feel like I'm always saying the wrong thing. I don't know what's okay to talk about and what's not."

He grinned, dimples charming her. "That never bothered you before."

A bit of a sheepish snort escaped her. "Yeah. I guess I've never been known for my tact."

"Uh, no." After a beat, the grin on his face morphed into more of a serious expression. "You can ask me anything about my disability, TJ. I think the less of a mystery it is to you, the less it will make you uncomfortable."

"Oh." She wasn't so sure about that. _So, Sam, do you use a catheter? How much can you feel? How did we have sex? _Just thinking those questions made her uncomfortable.

His cell phone rang, and she was relieved that he was distracted by it. He pulled the cell out of his pocket and answered the call. His tone was professional as he conversed with one of his clients, and he sounded so educated, so sophisticated. He would make a great lawyer. It was too bad he'd been forced to leave Berkeley because of her. She frowned at the thought.

He ended the call, promising whoever he was talking to that he would call back.

Still frowning, she stared at Rocket. Sam ducked his head a little to see her better. "Hey." His voice was gentle and deep. "You okay?"

"What?"

"You're frowning. What are you thinking?"

"It's nothing."

"Right." His tone said he didn't believe her.

She gave half a shrug. "It's just that...I'm sorry you had to leave Berkeley because of me."

It was his turn to frown. "TJ, that doesn't matter. It couldn't be helped."

"Yes, it does matter. You gave up so much."

He gave her a sincere look, his eyes full of raw emotion. "I didn't give up anything. I have everything I'll ever want right here. You and the twins, you're all I need."

His words pierced her; took her breath away. What was she supposed to say to that? The depth of his feeling for her was written in every facet of his face.

How could she have forgotten him? Had she loved him as intensely as he obviously loved her? She suddenly wanted to remember for his sake and didn't want to cause him any more pain. She remembered the picture of the two of them on her phone where Other TJ had looked so happy. She closed her eyes, straining, trying to visualize herself with him. But there was nothing. No memories at all. Just unending blackness in the part of her mind where her life with Sam was supposed to be.

The ache of it was heartrending. She felt a tightening in her chest and tears clogged her throat. She looked down at her hands, knotting her fingers together and willing herself not to cry. God, she cried more these days than the twins. She was a basket case.

She must have done a crappy job of hiding her distress because Sam lifted Rocket out of the way, setting the dog on the other side of him, and then scooted closer to her. He cupped her chin in his fingers and tilted her head so that she would look at him. "I want to hug you, but I don't want to do anything that will make you uncomfortable. Is it okay if I put my arm around you?"

Her blood surged. He was so close now and he smelled so good, like the night he'd kissed her—all aftershave, soap, and spicy male. Her body wanted his touch and the solace he offered. She nodded her head, and in the next instant his arm was around her. It only seemed natural that she should lay her head on his shoulder. Her head seemed to fit there perfectly, and the hard muscles of his shoulder and chest provided a surprisingly nice pillow for her cheek. He was warmth and strength and safety.

He placed a chaste kiss on the top of her head, and she didn't begrudge him for doing it. It seemed like second nature to him, a gesture of comfort and affection with no ulterior motives. It felt right.

"You know, we started out as friends before." His voice was a vibration that hummed through her body. "Maybe that's where we should start again. I'll give you time, Teej, if that's what you need, but please don't even think about a divorce yet. We've had so little time together. Just give me a chance and get to know me better. That's all I'm asking."

She nodded, closing her eyes. It was a reasonable request. They were silent for a minute after that until she remembered about her job with Jeremy. "So, um, I'm gonna start helpin' out with the medical bills."

There was caution in his tone. "What do you mean?"

"Jeremy offered me a job at the bank. I'll be making money, so I can contribute."

He tensed, and she raised her head to look at him better. His jaw was squared and he glanced away, clearly not pleased. "No. I don't need you to help me with that."

"But my dad said you're way in debt because of me. I just want to help. I don't want to be a burden."

"Look, I appreciate that you want to help, but I need your help more with the twins. Fern is going back to work next month. I can't work full time and take care of the twins by myself."

She was on edge. "I don't want to stay home with them. I don't know the first thing about taking care of one baby, let alone two."

"You can learn," he said in a measured tone. "You _need_ to learn."

That made her angry. "I'm not ready to be a mother."

He looked at her for a long moment, as if choosing his words carefully and trying to remain patient. "You are ready. I know it's daunting." He leaned his head back on the sofa and let out a small cough, covering his mouth with his fist. "Trust me. I know." His mouth curved into a wistful smile. "God, TJ, you were so in love with those babies, even before they were born. You were so protective of them, willing to risk your health and your life for them." His expression clouded with guilt. "Even when I wasn't."

She shook her head, knowing she was being stubborn and unreasonable; but the thought of being stuck at home with the twins all day made her feel panicky, like she was suffocating. "I can't. I'm gonna work with Jeremy. He's hiring me as his assistant."

Sam's eyes widened and his tone was cynical. "As his assistant? Are you friggin' kidding me?"

She knew it was a sarcastic, rhetorical question, but she answered anyway. "No, I'm not kidding. And we can put the twins in daycare."

He huffed like he couldn't believe she would say that, and then he was adamant. "No. No way in hell. We've been through too much with them. We almost lost them. I'm not risking it. They could get RSV or some other illness."

She rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Sam, people put their kids in daycare all the time. My mom put _me_ in daycare when I was a baby. They'll be fine."

The muscles in his jaw clenched. "No. They were preemies. They're more at risk."

"Don't I have a say in this?" She tried to keep her voice from rising. "You and my parents keep telling me over and over that I'm the twins' mother. What would we have done if I hadn't lost my memory and we still lived in California? Would I have stayed home with them if you were still in law school? Wasn't I in grad school? What would we have done about that?"

"You would have stayed home with them, at least for a while." He sounded so sure of that.

"No. It's not me. It's not who I am. I need to work, Sam."

He shut his eyes for a moment, as if it were getting harder and harder to rein in his emotions. "I'm asking you not to do this, TJ. I don't—working with Jeremy won't help you get to know me or the twins."

She could feel her ire mounting. "If someone else had offered me a job, it wouldn't be a big deal. This is all about Jeremy."

He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "That's part of it, yes. Can you blame me?" He gave her a direct look. "Don't you see? He's just doing this to get you away from me."

"He's just doing me a favor!"

His gaze bored into her. "I know about him, about your past history with him. You told me everything."

She could feel her face heating up.

"I know he was your first...love...and that you think you're still in love with him, that you want to pick up where you left off with him six years ago—and I know that's what he wants, too, damn him. Did you ask him what happened between the two of you?" He drove his point home, his tone caustic. "If he's so perfect, why didn't you end up with him all those years ago, TJ?"

She didn't want to get into that humiliation with Sam. It was mortifying that he knew about it, and it was even more galling that he knew all these things about her and her past that she didn't know herself. He was inside her head, and it made her furious. "It's not fair, you know? You know everything about me, but I know next to nothing about you—and no one will fuckin' tell me anything!"

"Ask me, Teej. I'll answer any question you have."

"Okay. What happened to you?"

His forehead creased and he looked away, his mouth pursed in dismay. "I...I don't know if you're ready to hear that yet."

She threw up her hands in defeat. "You just told me you would answer any question I have!"

"I know," he said, sounding drained. He pinched the bridge of his nose, and his features looked a bit drawn.

She might have been concerned if she wasn't so vexed. "I'm not some fragile piece of china. I'm a grown woman!"

"That's right!" he yelled. He was abruptly angry, his brief show of weakness gone, his eyes fierce. "You're a grown woman, a wife, and a mother—whether you like it or not!"

His sudden blast of emotion shocked her. He was formidable.

A tense, heavy silence stretched between them, and then, finally, he grimaced and let his head fall back against the sofa. His voice was quiet, almost hoarse. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled."

She didn't say anything, just seethed and stared at him defiantly.

He went on in that same quiet voice and looked her in the eye. "It's time to step up to the plate, Teej. Your place is here with your son and daughter. They need you, and you'll never get this time that you're missing with them back once it's gone." He paused, his expression turning soulful. "Don't go to work for Jeremy. Please, TJ. It's not just about you anymore."

She stood, trembling, barely holding in her fury, and looked down at him. She was done with this conversation. It was unfair that he was making her sound selfish when the main reason she wanted to work in the first place was to help him with their mountain of debt.

She was suddenly glad that she loomed over him. It gave her more authority, and she spoke with certainty. "Whatever I feel for Jeremy"—and she wasn't sure what she did feel for Jeremy anymore, but she was too angry with Sam to tell him so—"my relationship with him at the bank will be purely professional."

Sam scoffed, clearly skeptical.

She clenched her fists. "I start on Monday."

**XXXXXXXX**

TJ's stomach did a little flip when she saw Sam. He was on his crutches, heading toward his room. She felt self-conscious in the rumpled T-shirt and pajama pants she was wearing, and there was no telling what her hair looked like.

She was walking down the hallway from her room on her way to the kitchen to get breakfast, even though it was late in the morning, closer to lunchtime. So what else was new? But her late mornings would end soon. It was Friday, and she would be working come Monday.

She hadn't talked to Sam since their argument yesterday. Much to Fern's dismay, he hadn't even eaten dinner with them last night, saying he had an important law project he needed to work on. TJ figured it had more to do with her, that he was still mad because she was going to work at the bank with Jeremy. She didn't bring her impending employment up to her parents. She wasn't in the mood to deal with their disapproval on top of Sam's.

Rocket walked behind Sam down the hallway, ever the faithful companion. Sam's large body took up almost the whole width of the narrow hall, and TJ had to turn sideways to get past him. She ducked her head at the last second and concentrated on her footsteps so she wouldn't have to meet his eyes.

She pressed herself against the wall to give him as much berth as possible, careful not to brush against his arm. His arm muscles were straining, and his breathing was heavy as he slowly swung his legs through his crutches. The whole process seemed laborious, unlike the other time she'd seen him up walking around, later the same day of the infamous pie-dough incident. On that day, it had seemed easier for him.

Her heart pounded. He had a striking presence that was hard to ignore when he was in his wheelchair, but Sam at his full height was impressive and kind of intimidating—and thrilling. She wasn't used to feeling short, and it made her feel a bit weak in the knees to be this near him. She could swear that the temperature in the hallway had suddenly gotten warmer by a few degrees, and she felt her face flush. "Excuse me," she mumbled, still not looking up at him.

"Excuse me." He sounded a bit hoarse.

After she squeezed by him, she heard a wet cough rumble up from his chest as he entered his room. She remembered the way he'd pinched the bridge of his nose yesterday and his drawn features, and she wondered if he'd caught whatever ailment Vern had a week ago.

When TJ got to the kitchen, Fern was busy chopping up carrots, celery, and onions from her garden. TJ got a box of Cheerio's from the pantry and fixed herself a bowl. Fern hardly glanced at her as she dumped the vegetables from the cutting board into a large stock pot.

"Good morning, Mama."

"Mornin'," Fern said shortly, wiping her hands on her apron.

TJ sighed and sat on a stool at the counter. She could tell Fern was miffed that she'd slept late again, and she hoped she wasn't about to get another lecture.

She took a bite of her cereal but hardly tasted it. That was a good thing. It made it easier not to eat it. So far, she'd been able to keep her weight down. It was the one bright spot in her otherwise chaotic, dismal life.

She stirred her cereal, watching the little toasted circles pop back up after she poked them down into the milk, and tried to make it look like she was eating it. Fern wasn't really paying attention, anyway.

Fern adjusted the temperature on the burner of the gas stove—a relic from the '50s that was actually kind of cool-looking—then turned to TJ, bracing her hands on the counter. "I'm making homemade chicken noodle soup. I want you to take a bowl to Sam when it's ready. I sent him to bed. He's not feelin' good."

TJ rolled her eyes. Yet another ploy by Fern to get TJ to interact with Sam.

"Don't you roll your eyes at me, girl. It's either him or you can take care of the twins."

TJ scowled, trying to decide which would be worse.

"I can't do both," Fern went on. "Those twins are already more than one person can handle; plus, I don't want to take the chance of inadvertently getting them sick by tending to Sam."

"Oh, thanks. So you'll let me be exposed to whatever he has instead?"

Fern's eyes traveled up and down TJ with motherly disapproval. "Well, you spend most of your time in bed anyway. If you get sick, at least it won't be a big change for you. Just make sure you wash and sanitize your hands a lot. You'll be fine." As if reminded, she turned and grabbed the bottle of hand sanitizer sitting by the kitchen sink and set it on the counter in front of TJ.

TJ ignored the proffered sanitizer and defiantly dropped her spoon into her bowl. It clanked loudly and splashed a bit of milk on the counter.

"The soup will be ready in thirty minutes," Fern said, ignoring TJ's childish display of insolence. "You might want to at least put on a bra before you take a bowl to Sam."

TJ looked down to see that her nipples were taut against the fabric of her T-shirt, and she felt her ears grow warm. She wondered if she'd had "headlights" when she encountered Sam in the hall.

She got up from her stool, embarrassed.

"I mean it, young lady," Fern called as TJ left the kitchen. "Thirty minutes!"

**XXXXXXXX**

Thirty_-six_ minutes later, dressed in jeans, a Kelly-green top, and the most padded bra that she owned, TJ knocked softly on Sam's door. She was carrying a bed tray with Sam's soup and a mug of hot green tea on it with explicit instructions from Fern to make sure he ate it because he hadn't been eating very well the last couple of days.

At first there was no answer to her knock, but when she knocked again, he called, "Come in." His voice was barely audible.

She walked in, intending to leave the soup and run, but the sight that met her triggered a bout of sympathy in her. Sam was lying on his back as though he had just crashed on his bed, not caring how he landed, his forearm crutches still on his arms and splayed out to the sides, his feet at sideways right angles to his body and sticking off the end of the bed.

The bed was made, and he was lying on top of the flowery-printed pink comforter that had graced the bed in the guest bedroom ever since TJ could remember. The comforter looked ridiculously feminine underneath Sam's very masculine body. Rocket was lying curled next to him, head on his paws.

"My mom made you some soup," she said lamely.

Sam looked at her with half-open eyes.

"Um, it's chicken noodle."

He looked at her for another moment. "Thank you," he rasped.

She stood there holding the bed tray, uncertain what to do next. "Um, where should I put this?" He was taking up the whole bed.

He coughed with his mouth closed, like he was trying to suppress it. When he could speak, he said, "Just put it there." He indicated a pile of pillows up near the headboard.

She eyed Rocket warily. "Will he try to eat it?"

Sam's mouth quirked, showing a shallow dimple. "He prefers sandwiches and hotdogs."

She was hit with a flicker of something then, a moment in time like the flash from a camera—a vision of a guy with something like a hotdog in his hand and Rocket flying through the air. She lost focus for a second and then the vision was gone.

"You okay?" Sam croaked with a frown.

Her heart was beating fast and she stood still, like if she didn't move, maybe whatever it was that had just happened would happen again. Had she just had a memory of something? If that's what it was, it gave new meaning to the word "fleeting." She gritted her teeth in frustration and drew in a deep breath. "Yeah. I'm okay."

He was suddenly a bit more alert, gaze boring into her. "You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah." She walked around the bed, set the tray on the floor, and moved the pillows out of her way. Then she picked up the tray and set it in place of the pillows on the bed.

Sam blinked slowly, like he was getting sleepy, but he was watching her every move.

It was disconcerting. "Um, the soup and tea are hot," she said.

He lost the battle with his eyelids and closed his eyes. He didn't look like he was about to move anytime soon.

"Everything will get cold," she warned.

"'Kay. Thanks," he croaked.

She tapped her foot. She didn't like that he was just lying there, and she didn't know what to do. Finally, she exhaled an agitated breath. "Do you—would you like me to, um...help you?"

"No thanks." He coughed. It was wet and he sounded really congested.

She didn't think lying flat on his back was very good for that. "Look, Mama will have my hide if you don't eat that soup. I'm under strict orders to make sure you eat it, so I think you need to sit up."

"'Kay. I will," he said, closing his eyes again.

"Well, it looks like you're about to go to sleep to me."

He grunted, and even his grunt was hoarse.

She sighed in exasperation. He looked and sounded so sick with his rattling chest, and he seemed so vulnerable, despite his massive size. On impulse, she reached out and felt of his forehead and then his cheek with the back of her fingers. He was too hot and obviously had a fever.

He leaned into her touch, his eyes still closed. "I love you," he rasped softly.

She was startled by that. They'd had a fight yesterday, and a declaration of love was the last thing she expected from him. Maybe he was halfway delirious. Still, her pulse quickened and she felt that tightening again, that uneasy feeling in her core she got whenever she was around him. She spun around and hastily retreated to the door.

"TJ?"

She froze with her hand on the doorknob.

"Please, don't go."

She hesitated, but, in the end, she couldn't resist his quiet plea. He was sick, and she wasn't totally heartless.

He started coughing, and she turned around and went back to his bedside. She gently slipped the cuffs of the forearm crutches off his arms and set the crutches on the floor near the bed. Then she grabbed his hands and heaved, trying to pull him into a sitting position. He was like a rag doll—a giant heavy one—and he fell back onto the mattress, making no effort to help her. "Come on, Sam. You need to sit up."

He waited for a second and then, instead of taking her proffered hands, he levered himself up to his elbows and sort of leaned, getting one hand braced behind him and then the other. The process of sitting up seemed to require more effort for him.

Once he was sitting, he placed his palms flat on the mattress beside him. He started coughing again and leaned forward. It caused him to really cough in earnest, louder and more productive than he had before. She saw a box of tissues on the nightstand and a paper Dixie cup like the ones they kept in the bathroom. She assumed it was for spitting phlegm into, and she grabbed it and held it out for him to spit in, which he did. Strangely, she wasn't grossed out by it. She just felt bad for him.

"Sorry," he croaked when he was done.

Lord, he was so damn polite. She held in a smile. "What are you sorry for? Being sick? I think you get a hall pass for that one."

He gave her a puppy-dog look that reminded her of Rocket. "Maybe it's better if you leave," he said. "I don't want you to get sick. I shouldn't have asked you to stay."

Something sort of protective in her surfaced and she shook her head. "I'm not leaving until you eat some soup and drink some tea."

He coughed weakly, eyes on her.

She grabbed a couple of pillows and fluffed them up against the headboard of the old four-poster bed to show him she meant business. "Come on. Can you scoot back, or do you need help?"

He huffed, but its impact was diminished because it turned into a cough. "I can do it." And he did so, the muscles in his arms bulging as he pressed into the mattress and scooted himself up against the pillows.

She grabbed the bed tray, careful not to spill the soup or the tea, and set it over his lap. Then she crossed her arms and watched him.

He picked up the spoon and cocked his head. "What?"

"I was just waiting to see if the soup was okay. It may not be hot enough anymore. If it's not, I can go reheat it for you in the microwave."

His expression was cautious. "Why are you being so nice to me? I thought you were mad at me about yesterday."

She shrugged. "I thought you were the one who was mad."

He was taking a bite of the soup, and he winced almost imperceptibly as he swallowed, like maybe his throat was sore. He took a drink of the tea after that. He didn't complain about it being cold, but she didn't think he would.

"Is it still hot?" she asked.

"It's fine," he answered hoarsely.

She didn't believe him, but she didn't argue.

He took another bite. Once he swallowed, he got back to the topic at hand. "I'm not mad."

She eyed him skeptically.

"Okay. I was yesterday. I just don't approve of you working with Jeremy as his _assistant_," he said cynically.

"I'm not changing my mind," she said with resolve, "and I don't want to fight with you about this again."

He let out a congested sigh, sounding resigned. "I don't want to fight, either." He brought a spoonful of soup to his mouth, took a swallow, then set the spoon in the bowl and wiped his mouth with his napkin.

She followed his movements, staring at his mouth as he wiped the napkin over it and at the faint, attractive cleft in his chin. She forgot what they were talking about.

She was distracted from his face when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw one of his legs begin to jiggle, although it was hindered by the leg brace. She did a double-take and then looked at him, but he appeared to be unaware as he took another bite of soup. Her eyes widened a little. "Um, can you—are you moving your leg?"

His brow creased. "What?"

She eyed his shaking leg. "You can move it?"

He peered over the bed tray. "Oh," he said flatly. He lay back against the pillows and pushed the bowl of soup away from him, apparently done with it. "No, I can't move my leg—I mean, not voluntarily. I have spasticity in my legs."

"Oh." She knew what he was talking about. She'd read about it in her research.

"My legs sometimes jerk or jiggle. Sometimes my muscles contract and get really stiff. Trust me—I don't make it happen, and sometimes it's a pain in the ass."

She nodded.

"It happens more when I'm tired or sick, I guess, but sometimes it's just random. It's nothing to really worry about. It's a common thing with SCI."

"Yeah. I know."

He raised his brows. "You do?"

"I, um, kind of did some research on it—on spinal cord injury, I mean."

"Oh?"

He sounded intrigued, but she felt a little weird about her admission and didn't elaborate. He took a sip of his tea, his big hand wrapped around the mug and dwarfing it.

She cleared her throat. "So, should we—I mean, is there something we can do, um, about, you know, your leg?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose, and it was obvious he felt like crap. "Yeah. I should probably take my braces off, for one thing." He eyed the tray and set the mug of tea on it. "I'm done with this. Could you—do you mind?"

She nodded and took it away. He hadn't eaten much, but she didn't comment. She'd bring him more later and make sure he ate it when it was still hot, along with more tea. She set the tray on the dresser and then went back to him. "Can I help you get your braces off?

He smiled a little devilishly. "You can, but you'll have to help me get my jeans off, first."

She poked her cheek with her tongue.

"Don't worry," he said, his mouth accentuated by dimples. "I'm not going commando. I have on boxers."

She huffed with a smile and half an eye roll. "Well, thank heaven for small mercies."

He laughed softly, which turned into another cough. He really sounded terrible.

Once he was done coughing, he took his cell phone from his jeans pocket, laid it on the nightstand, and then leaned from side to side, alternating with his hands until he'd pushed his jeans down off his hips and onto his thighs, exposing his navy blue boxers underneath. "Could you, uh, just pull my jeans down the rest of the way off my legs?"

"Sure." She did, unveiling the intricate braces encasing his legs from thigh to foot as she pulled the jeans down. She could feel his gaze on her, watching her every move. She kept her face neutral, trying not to show any reaction that might make him feel self-conscious, and acted like this was something she did every day. She was struck by the thought that, maybe at one time, it _was_ something she had done every day.

Underneath the braces, she noticed a sock-like material on his legs that she assumed must protect them from the braces. Once she had eased his jeans down to his feet, she unlaced and took off his Adidas tennis shoes, letting them fall to the floor so she could get the jeans all the way off of him. She absently folded his jeans and set them in the seat of his wheelchair, then turned her attention back to the braces. She saw then how they must work, how they kept his legs stiff and kept his feet in position so he could walk.

He pulled at the Velcro straps on his thighs, undoing the braces, and she followed suit at various points down his legs and feet until all the straps were undone. The spasms in his leg got worse once the brace was loosened.

"Okay," he said. His nose sounded stopped up. "Now, just ease the braces off."

Rocket was watching the whole process with bored disinterest. TJ couldn't resist reaching over and giving him a brief scratch on the head, and he gave a contented little sigh.

She got back to work, helping Sam with the brace of the spasming leg first. His long leg was kind of heavy, and it was a little weird the way it jiggled, but she managed to get the brace off. The other brace slid off easily. His legs were skinny, but other than the spasms, there was nothing really remarkable about them, nothing to pity or be turned off by. "Nice tights," she quipped, referring to the sock-looking covers he still wore.

He smiled, and there was something like relief in his eyes. "Thanks. They're all the rage."

She quickly slid the cottony covers off and rolled them up. Then she held them up and looked at him questioningly.

"Uh, if you don't mind, could you put them in the second drawer of the dresser?"

She nodded and did as he asked, putting them among the other rows of various-colored brown, black, and white socks neatly packed into the drawer. His braces were still lying on the bed, and she picked them up. They weren't very heavy, but she was amazed again at how freaking long his legs were. She arched a brow. "Closet?"

He nodded and coughed, covering his mouth with his fist.

She leaned the braces against an exposed corner of the closet and then grabbed his sneakers. There was a rack that held a few pairs of shoes on his closet door, so she put the sneakers in an empty spot. Last, she grabbed his crutches that were still lying on the floor near his wheelchair and put them in the closet near the braces.

He swallowed with a wince and laid his head back on the pillow. "Thanks." His voice was raspy and husky.

She sat down on the bed again. "You're welcome."

He sniffed his stuffed up nose and then breathed through his mouth, so she handed him a tissue. When he was done blowing his nose, she held out her hand for the used tissue.

He grimaced. "You'll get my germs."

She shrugged. "I'll wash my hands."

He gingerly handed the tissue to her and she got up and walked into the bathroom across the hall. She threw away the tissue, washed her hands, and grabbed the small trashcan from the bathroom to take into his room, setting it by his bed so it would be there for any future tissues.

He was still sitting on top of the comforter. "So," she said, "I think you'll be more comfy if we get you under the covers."

He nodded and pressed his palms into the mattress, lifting his hips, and she somehow managed to get the thick comforter pulled down to where it was free of his legs without pulling off his boxers. She covered him with the top sheet and the pink, flowery fabric of the comforter up to his waist. He was wearing a black-and-gray plaid button-down, the sleeves of which were rolled a quarter of the way up his tanned arms. She pressed her lips together to hold in a smile at the incongruity of the very masculine shirt mixed with the girlie comforter.

He settled against the pillows and looked at her with droopy lids. "What?" he croaked, apparently sensing her amusement.

"Nothing. You need to rest. You want some Tylenol or some NyQuil?"

He shook his head tiredly. "Your mom dosed me up with NyQuil before she sent me to bed. I think she gave me extra."

TJ smiled. He must seem like a giant to her tiny mother. No telling how much medicine Fern had given him. "Are you gonna leave your shirt on?"

He gave her a weak smirk that still managed to be suggestive. "You want me to take it off?" he rasped.

She poked her cheek with her tongue. "Only if it will make you more comfortable."

He held her gaze for a moment. "Okay," he finally said. There was a gravity to his tone that seemed out of place.

He unbuttoned his shirt, and she helped him pull it off his arms—and was shocked by what she saw. She'd thought his body was beautiful when she saw him doing the yoga, but up close, it was stunning. His muscles were chiseled and perfectly formed, but the effect was slightly marred by the number of scars he had. There was one on his shoulder, a few on his chest, and some on his side along his ribs. Some were jagged and long; some were smaller and neater, like they'd been stitched. All appeared to be old and long-since healed.

He started coughing and braced himself to lean forward, causing the cough to deepen and be more productive like he'd done earlier. When he did, she was able to see his back. There were a few scars similar to the ones on the front of him and a long incision scar down his spine that was at least six inches long. She stared at it openly, forgetting her manners, and felt her throat tighten with emotion. It was obviously the scar from his spinal cord injury.

Still hacking, he reached out his hand. She stared at it like an idiot, but then it finally dawned on her that he wanted the cup on the nightstand. She grabbed the cup quickly and handed it to him, and he spit a glob of mucus in it. She grimaced.

Once the episode was over, she took the cup from him and set it on the nightstand, making a mental note that it needed to be replaced. He fell back onto the pillows, looking totally spent, eyes closed.

She placed her hand gently on his arm, ignoring the crazy urge she had to trace his well-defined pecs. "Sam, do you want me to fix the pillows so you can lie down more?"

He nodded, never opening his eyes. It was clearly getting harder for him to fight the fever and the sedative effect of the NyQuil.

She instinctively supported his shoulders with one hand—his skin too hot beneath her palm—and eased the pillows down with her other hand so that he was reclining more. He was still sitting up enough that it would be easier to breathe through the congestion, but she hoped that he was lying down enough that he would be comfortable and be able to rest.

She stole another look at the scars on his shoulder and chest and felt a little weak in the knees. She sank down next to him on the edge of the bed and stared at him, at his handsome face. Who was Sam Winchester, and what the hell had happened to him to cause all those scars?

She was starting to get an inkling of what she might have seen in him and how she might have fallen in love with him—his strength, his intelligence, his charm, his kindness, his capacity to forgive. And, mercy, his muscles alone were enough to drive a girl to distraction.

He hadn't moved and his breathing was even, although she could still hear a faint rattle in his chest. She reached out and felt of his forehead, knowing it would be hot like the rest of him, and it was. He didn't stir. She didn't think his fever was any worse, but she would find a thermometer once she got him settled and take his temperature so she could monitor it.

She stayed there a few more minutes. For some reason, it made her feel peaceful to watch him sleep, and she didn't want to leave. She brushed her fingers through his thick, dark hair and had the urge to smell of it, to breathe in the scent of his shampoo mixed with the smell of _him_. "I don't think I could ever hate you, Sam," she whispered, referring to the warning she'd given him the night they'd fought.

"So, I guess that's a start," he said, surprising her. He sounded even hoarser, like he was losing his voice, but there was a rakish tilt to his mouth that caused one of his dimples to show.

She snatched her hand back, embarrassed that he'd caught her with her fingers in his hair. "You're not asleep," she accused.

He opened his eyes and grabbed her fingers, encasing them in his heat. "I was asleep. Kind of. But something woke me up."

She rolled her eyes and wriggled her fingers from his grasp, then took his hand and gently laid it on his chest. She noticed that he had goose bumps on his arms and pulled the comforter up to his shoulders, tucking him in.

Two slits of hazel were still watching her. "Are you feeling sorry for me?" he rasped.

She snorted. There was nothing to pity about Sam Winchester, even when he was sick. "No. But, to be honest, I'm wondering how you got all those scars." She glanced pointedly at his wheelchair. "What happened to you, Sam? Why won't you tell me?"

He swallowed with a wince and closed his eyes for a moment. "You won't believe me if I tell you.

"Try me."

"Okay." He spoke in his raspy voice, watching her face with a tired yet intense gaze. "I was stabbed in the back by a poltergeist."

_**TBC**_


	21. Chapter 21

**_A/N: Thank you to my betas Catsluver and skzb. You guys are superb._  
**

_**Thanks to those of you who reviewed as guests and to everyone who is reading this story. I am writing this for you. (Okay. For me, too...but mostly for you!)  
**_

**Chapter 21**

TJ sat frozen for a moment, not sure she'd heard correctly. Was Sam kidding? He didn't look like he was, but what he'd said was nuts. "Did you say a poltergeist?"

"Yes," he answered, still watching her closely.

"You mean like the ghost kind of poltergeist?"

He smirked wanly, no mirth in his eyes. "I don't know of any other kind."

Not knowing how else to react, she laughed nervously and stood up. "Riiight," she drawled slowly, patting the section of comforter covering his chest. "And I think that's my cue to leave because you need to rest. I think Fern definitely gave you too much NyQuil, or else you're delirious."

He continued to watch her and seemed lucid enough, although his lids were getting heavy. It was clear he was trying to fight sleep. "I told you that you wouldn't believe me." His voice was gravelly and barely audible.

Rocket stirred next to him, circling and sniffing, trying to find a better position. He found the perfect spot next to Sam's side and curled up there.

Sam was blinking slowly, his lids getting droopier by the second. TJ wanted so badly to know the truth, but he was in no condition to have a conversation of that magnitude right now. "You need to rest," she said. "We can talk about it later."

He closed his eyes and nodded, then coughed faintly with his mouth closed.

She backed away and could see his chest begin to expand and contract with the even breathing of sleep before she walked out the door.

**XXXXXXXX**

Thirty minutes or so later, she peeked into Sam's room to check on him. He was sound asleep, sawing logs with a soft, congested snore, and Rocket was sleeping right alongside him. She saw the Dixie cup on the nightstand and scrunched up her nose. She needed to throw it away and get Sam a clean one.

She tiptoed over near his bed and picked up the cup, pausing to look at him. His cheeks were a little flushed with fever, but no more than they were before. Her mother had given her an ear thermometer, and TJ was contemplating whether she could take his temperature without waking him. She was startled when the sound of the cell phone he'd placed on his nightstand earlier started ringing.

She threw the cup in the trashcan by his bed and quickly grabbed his phone, pushing the talk button after the first ring. "Hello?" she whispered quietly, already heading for the door.

"_Who is this?"_ barked a wary male voice on the line.

"Just a sec," TJ whispered, voice hardly audible, glancing at Sam to see if he was still asleep.

He'd moved his head, and his soft snoring was interrupted briefly but then resumed. He was still tucked under the covers up to his chin, and his eyes were closed. He looked boyish and innocent, his face relaxed. Rocket had awakened and lifted his head, but seeing no immediate danger, he laid his head back down on his paws.

TJ shut the door, careful to hold the knob as she pulled the door shut so that it wouldn't make any noise.

"_TJ? Is that you?"_ the impatient voice demanded on the other end of the line. _"Why are you whispering? Where's Sam?"_

"Yes, this is TJ," she hissed in a hushed tone, still afraid she might wake Sam if she spoke too loudly in the hallway. She made her way to her room and shut the door. "Who's this?" she said in a more normal voice, sitting down on her bed.

There was a beat of silence. "_Uh, hi, TJ. This is Dean. Sam's brother."_

Oh, this was awkward. Another Winchester she should know but didn't—her brother-in-law, whose voice mails she'd ignored when she was in the hospital until he'd finally given up. She cleared her own throat. "Um, hi."

"_It's been awhile."_

His voice was masculine and sounded nice, and she tried to pair it with the pictures she'd seen of him. He was good-looking like Sam, from what she remembered, although the brothers didn't resemble each other that much. She wished she had her cell phone handy so she could look at the photos again.

"_So, how are you?"_

"Fine, I guess, all things considered." She hesitated. "And you?" she asked out of polite obligation.

"_I'm good. Why are you answering Sam's phone?"_

"He's taking a nap. He's got a bad cold and—"

"_Dammit. I knew he was getting sick. How bad?"_ Dean's tone was sharp with instant concern.

She was surprised Dean knew Sam was getting sick and wondered how often Dean and Sam talked. How much did Dean know about her? She found the uncertainty of that disconcerting.

"_TJ, you still there? How bad is Sam's cold?"_

"Oh. Sorry. It's just a summer cold that's been going around. My dad had it a week ago and it got him down for a couple of days, but he's okay now. Sam's probably got the same thing. I don't think it's that serious. It just has to run its course."

"_Has Sam been coughing? Is he congested?"_

"Yes."

There was an exhale of breath. _"TJ, listen carefully to me. A cold can be dangerous for Sam. He...he doesn't have the use of his abdominal muscles below his navel." _

It suddenly clicked with her why Sam always held onto a wheel when he leaned over to pick something up off the floor and the difficulty she'd noticed earlier when he was getting himself into a sitting position. Something that she took for granted, like sitting up, would be pretty damn hard to do with half your abdominal muscles paralyzed. It made the yoga session she'd witnessed him doing take on a whole new level of meaning. It wasn't just a graceful display of strength. It was extraordinary.

"_He can't cough as good as you or I can," _Dean continued_. "He has to do assisted coughing to help him get everything out. If he doesn't, germs can get trapped in his lungs and cause an infection."_

She was alarmed by this but then remembered the way Sam had braced himself and leaned forward while coughing. "I think he's been doing that. I mean, I saw him lean forward, and it seemed like he was able to cough better that way.

"_Good."_ Dean sounded slightly less on edge. _"Make sure he keeps doing that. You can help him with it, too—probably more effectively. It's the same as the Heimlich Maneuver."_

"Um, I'm not sure I know what you mean." She knew what the Heimlich Maneuver was, but she'd certainly never had to perform it on anyone—that she remembered.

"_If he's sitting in his chair, you can get behind him and put your arms around his waist. Make a fist with one hand and hold it with your other, then place it on his abdomen just above his navel and below his rib cage. Have him take a deep breath, and when he exhales, press your fist into his abdomen and thrust upward with force. Does that make sense?"_

She felt a bit of trepidation at the thought of doing it, but she understood. "Yeah. I think I can do it."

"_Good. You can do it if he's lying down, too. It's the same thing, but you put your hands on his lower ribs and push with the heels of your hands instead of doing the fist."_

"Okay."

"_Make sure either you help him or he does it himself often."_

"Okay. I will."

"_Is he sleeping on his back or stomach?"_

"His back."

"_Did he explain to you about pressure sores?"_

"Um, no." She knew what they were because of her research, but she hadn't heard it from Sam.

Dean muttered something under his breath. _"Okay. He shouldn't lie in one position for more than two hours, especially if he hasn't used pillows to relieve stress on certain pressure points of his body, like, to put it bluntly, his ass. His hips, heels, and ankles are other areas that are susceptible to pressure sores. If he sleeps on his back or side, make him show you how to use pillows to prevent the sores. It's better if he can sleep on his stomach, unless he's really congested."_

"He is."

"_Then make sure he uses the pillows to sleep on his back. Don't let him act like it's not a big deal. If he gets a pressure sore, it could take months to heal. Make sure he puts lotion on, too, so his skin doesn't dry out."_

She imagined herself talking about these things with Sam and felt her ears grow warm.

"_It's important, TJ."_ Dean sounded urgent, like he was worried TJ wouldn't take him seriously.

"I'll do it," she assured. "Don't worry. I'll take good care of him."

"_Thanks. I know you will."_ Dean sounded more confident in her, and she instinctively knew it was a big deal that he was trusting her with his brother's care.

Lord, this was so weird. She'd never taken care of anyone before in her entire life—that she remembered—especially not a _man. _And Sam definitely fell into the man category. There was nothing boyish about him. Well, except for maybe when he was asleep.

"_Have Sam call me when he wakes up."_

"I will."

"_Call me if you have any questions or if he gets worse, day or night. It doesn't matter when."_

"Okay."

There was an awkward moment of silence, and then Dean spoke. _"So, I guess I'll let you go for now."_

"Dean?"

"_Yeah?"_

Her pulse quickened. "Um, Sam told me he got stabbed in the back by a poltergeist."

No response.

"I think it was the NyQuil or the fever talking."

Still silence.

"That's crazy, right?" she said hopefully, with a jittery little laugh. "I mean, that's not really what happened to him—you know, why he, um, uses the wheelchair?"

This time she got a sigh in response.

Why was she even bringing this up? Of course it wasn't what happened. There were no such things as poltergeists. Nevertheless, the thought made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, and Dean's silence was even more unsettling.

"Dean? You still there?"

"_Yeah."_

"Can you tell me what really happened? Why is Sam paralyzed? Why does he have so many scars? Was he in an accident?"

Dean's voice sounded solemn. _"That's something you need to ask him about, TJ."_

"I did!" She was getting so tired of people telling her that. "He told me he got stabbed by a damn poltergeist!" she repeated.

"_Ask him when he's feeling better. It's something the two of you should talk about. It's not my place."_

She felt chastened, embarrassed, and angry. What was the big secret? First her mom and dad refused to tell her, then Sam himself, and now Dean.

"_I'm sorry,"_ said Dean. He sounded sincere.

"I'll have Sam call you," she said stiffly, and then she ended the call.

**XXXXXXXX**

Almost two hours had passed since Sam had fallen asleep, and Dean's warning about the pressure sores echoed in TJ's head. _"He shouldn't lie in one position for more than two hours."_

TJ stood in the hallway by Sam's door listening, but she couldn't hear anything. She glanced at the time on his cell phone, which she intended to put back on his bedside table. Should she wake him? He needed the rest, but she didn't want him to get a pressure sore. Maybe she could help him get resettled properly with pillows like Dean said and then he would just go back to sleep.

She cracked the door open, peering in, and was surprised to see Sam sitting in his wheelchair wearing his jeans and plaid shirt. His feet were bare, resting neatly on the footplate of his chair. The sleeves of his shirt were unrolled, the cuffs unbuttoned and loosely open, and his long, dark-brown hair reached just below his collar and brushed against it. He looked ruggedly casual and sexy, and TJ had to unglue her eyes from him.

She was perplexed when she saw the flowery comforter on the floor, realizing he had stripped the top sheet off the bed and was about to take off the bottom sheet. She opened the door wider. "Sam, what are you doing?"

His broad shoulders tensed and he ceased his movements, not looking at her. His jaw was in a rigid, hard line.

She walked into the room and impulsively felt of his forehead. It was hot, but no hotter than it had been earlier. "What are you doing?" she asked again.

He pulled his head away, clearly not wanting to be touched. Rocket sat on the floor, his head tilted in a confused doggy way, watching the whole scene.

Sam shifted his shoulders like he was uneasy, and he still wouldn't look at her. "Just—I don't need any help," he rasped. "Please. Just leave." He coughed, putting his fist to his mouth.

She frowned. She couldn't let him do this when he felt so bad. "Did—are your sheets wet? Did you get them sweaty?"

He closed his eyes slowly, like something pained him.

"It's okay," she said. "I'll take care of them and put fresh ones on." She turned to the bed and pulled the corner of the fitted sheet off the mattress.

"Don't!" he croaked. He sounded almost frantic.

But he was too late. She saw it then, the wetness where he'd been lying, the large, round spot that was much too wet to be from sweat. She smelled the faint odor of urine and her cheeks burned. Her back was to him, and she took in a deep breath, praying that he wouldn't notice how red her ears must look and wishing that her hair was down to hide her blush instead of in a ponytail.

She continued what she was doing, pulling the sheet all the way off and throwing it in a large ball on the floor, still hiding her face. There was a large absorbent pad—also damp—stuck with adhesive to the mattress, and she unpeeled it from the mattress and wadded it up, as if it was no big deal.

She pasted what she hoped was a nonchalant, impassive expression on her face and scooped up the discarded sheet, finally looking at Sam. The top sheet that he'd pulled off was still in a ball in his lap, and she could see a bit of the navy blue boxers he'd been wearing earlier mixed in with it. He was staring at a point on the bed.

Gently, she tugged on the sheet in his lap and said softly, "I'll take this."

He let her, and she balled the two sheets and underwear together under one arm, still holding the wadded up pad in her other hand. When she was almost to the door, she stole another look at him. He hadn't moved. "It's okay," she told him. She knew it was lame, but she couldn't think of anything else to say.

He said nothing, just sat there as stiff and unmoving as a stone statue. She slipped out the door and headed toward the laundry room at the other end of the house. She threw away the pad, quickly started the washer, and threw in his sheets and boxers. Then she washed her hands and grabbed fresh sheets from the linen closet in the hallway on her way back to his room. When she was at his door, she knocked first.

There was no answer.

"Sam, can I come in?"

Still no answer.

She was debating whether she should open the door without his permission, given his mood from before, but then she noticed Rocket sitting outside the bathroom door and a sliver of light glowing beneath it in the dim hallway.

Rocket looked at her with woeful eyes and tentatively wagged his tail, and she couldn't resist. She walked over and crouched down, fresh sheets still clutched in one arm, and scratched him between his ears. She could hear the shower running in the bathroom and knew that Sam must be taking a shower.

"Let's go make your master's bed," she said to Rocket, scratching him under his beard. He looked like he was in heaven, and she smiled. "You're a good boy, aren't you, Rocket? Yes, you are." She still missed Elliott, but it wasn't Rocket's fault that Elliott had died. She hadn't been very fair to Sam's dog, and she felt bad about it.

Rocket followed her to Sam's room, and she started making the bed with the fresh sheets. Once she got the sheets on, she saw that the comforter was still on the floor. She picked it up, checked it over, and realized it had been soiled a little bit, too. She took it to the laundry room and left it on the floor to be washed after the first load was done.

Rocket still shadowing her every step, TJ went in her parents' room and found an old bedspread at the top of her mother's closet. It was a thick, colorful quilt in a wedding-ring pattern that had been made by TJ's great grandmother. Fern had always kept it in the top of her closet for as long as TJ could remember.

After procuring the bedspread, TJ was once again standing outside Sam's door. The bathroom was dark and the door to it had been left open, so she knew he was finished with his shower. The smell of his shampoo and soap wafted out into the hallway, and she felt a fluttery feeling in her stomach that she tried to squelch.

Tentatively, she knocked on his door.

If he answered, she couldn't hear it. She knew he was in there, though, by the excited way Rocket's tail wagged and the way he stood at attention at the door.

"Sam? It's me. I have Rocket with me. Can I come in?"

She thought he wasn't going to answer, but then the door opened. He backed his chair up a little, pushing a wheel with one hand and pulling the doorknob with the other so that he could open the door partway. He had on a plain, white, V-neck T-shirt and gray sweatpants like the ones he had on the night they'd fought. He ran a hand through his wet hair and then coughed, covering his mouth with his fist.

She thought of what Dean said about the assisted coughing, but judging by the dark, brooding look on Sam's features, now wasn't the time to bring it up. She lifted the bedspread in her arms, showing it to him. "Um, I'm just going to put this on your bed." Her heart was beating fast, but she tried to act like nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

"Give it to me," he rasped, eyeing the bedspread. "I'll do it."

He was tense, and she got the feeling he was angry, maybe even angry at her, although she wasn't sure why. "It won't take me but a second," she said.

He clenched his jaw. "I can do it."

"I know you can, but just let me. You're sick."

He cocked his head to one side, and there was bitterness in his tone. "And I'm a cripple, right?"

Her stomach knotted with guilt. "I apologized for that."

"So you did." Again, that tick in his jaw, and then he seemed to change gears, deflating a bit. "I don't want you to feel sorry for me."

"I don't."

He looked skeptical.

"I don't feel sorry for you—not for that—I mean, not for what happened." She could feel heat rising up her neck and cleared her throat. "But you're sick." She studied him, taking in his flushed face, the sound of his congested breathing, and his stopped up nose. "It's obvious you feel horrible, so let me help you."

He arched his head back slightly and slowly closed his eyes—the closest she figured he would come to admitting she was right—and then he seemed to give in, backing his chair away from the door and making room for her to enter.

She walked over and quickly spread the quilt over the bed, then turned it and the top sheet down so the bed would be ready for Sam. When she was done, she faced him and sat on the edge of the mattress. Rocket jumped up with her and sat beside her. She gave a little laugh. "You're persistent. I'll give you that." She scratched him between the ears, and Rocket sighed with contentment.

Sam didn't say anything, just watched until he started coughing again.

TJ cleared her throat, a bit apprehensive. "Would you—can I help you with that?"

He frowned. "With what?" he said between hacks.

"Dean called when you were napping. He said I should help you cough sometimes."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I'm not an invalid. I can do it myself."

It was TJ's turn to roll her eyes. "I know you're not an invalid. But I don't mind helping."

He looked at her for a long moment, and then she could swear something mischievous flashed in his eyes. "Okay."

She remembered she had thrown away his cup. "I'll be right back." She hurried into the bathroom and returned with a clean Dixie cup, handing it to him. "You'll probably need this."

He took it and nodded.

She got behind him and bent down, putting her arms around him and making a fist like Dean had instructed. She held her fist in her other hand and placed it under Sam's ribs, above his navel.

His stomach muscles flinched at her touch and his broad shoulders tightened.

Her cheek was near his, her chest against his warm back. _Have mercy._ Did the man always have to smell so good? The scent of him in such close proximity caused her blood to heat. He had been right. Her brain didn't know him, but her body sure as hell did. Did Jeremy have this effect on her? Maybe, but it wasn't this intense.

Rocket was still on the bed, and he lifted his head and tilted it, like he was wondering what crazy thing the humans were up to now.

"So—" She stopped and cleared her throat. "So, is this okay?"

"Yeah." Sam's voice was low and very husky, and she didn't think it was entirely due to the congestion. She remembered the flash of mischief she'd seen in his eyes and realized he'd probably known the effect having her arms around him might have on her.

It was so annoying, the way he knew her so intimately. She could deny it all she wanted, but maybe there was some of Other TJ left in her after all, that girl—that young _woman_—who'd looked so in love in the pictures with Sam.

Well, he was _hot_. There was no doubt about it. She was a girl and he was a guy, and they lived in the same house. It was only natural that, in her constant state of confusion, she might have lustful feelings toward him. It didn't mean she was in love with him.

She got down to business. "So, I push up when you exhale, right?"

"Right," he croaked.

"Okay. I'm ready when you are."

He nodded and drew in a deep breath, which immediately resulted in a cough on his exhale. She pushed up, exerting pressure on his abdomen, and it intensified the cough. He hacked up a glob of phlegm, and it sounded like he was gagging. She immediately let up, wondering if she'd done something wrong.

He spit into the cup and then gasped, "It's okay."

She frowned. "Did I hurt you?"

He shook his head, coughing weakly. "No. Do it again."

They repeated the process a few more times, and when they were done, his lungs didn't rattle and crackle so much. He threw away the cup, and she went to the bathroom to get him another clean one while he transferred himself onto the bed. When she came back, he was sitting up, legs hanging over the side of the bed and bare feet touching the floor. He looked exhausted and feverish but was still managing to give Rocket a good petting.

Remembering the thermometer in her pocket, she took it out and waved it. "I should take your temperature."

He nodded wearily. His long hair was halfway dry now, and she envied the texture and color of it. It was so dark and rich. She brushed a few strands back to insert the thermometer into his ear. His hair was soft to her touch. Lord, what she wouldn't give to have hair like his.

The thermometer beeped, and she read the digital display. "102.9. It's official. You're _sick_ sick."

He gave a hoarse huff.

She frowned. "Maybe we should take you to the med clinic in Colleyville. It's open on the weekends."

"No," he said with a stubborn set to his jaw. "No doctors."

Dean's warning that Sam could get a serious infection worried her. "Sam—"

"No." His brow was wrinkled in a stormy, obstinate look.

She didn't blame him, having no love for doctors herself. Sighing, she said, "Okay. We'll hold off, but if you get worse, we'll have to take you. For now, back to bed." She pointed at his pillows for emphasis.

He eyed the spot where he'd wet the bed and flushed even more than he already was because of the fever.

She didn't know what to say to make his embarrassment go away, and an awkward silence stretched between them. Finally, he spoke in a subdued voice. "In your research on SCI, did you read about the different types of injuries, complete versus incomplete, that sort of thing?"

"Yeah." She sat down next to him and reached across him to scratch Rocket under the chin.

"My injury is complete," Sam stated bluntly.

She tried not to react—tried not to show how that made her heart hurt. She knew what a complete injury meant, and she didn't want it to be that way for Sam. Slowly, she pulled back from petting Rocket and met Sam's steady, serious gaze.

He went on. "I have no sensation or muscle function below the level of my navel."

She swallowed against the lump that formed in her throat.

"I...have no bladder or bowel control. Because of that, I have to stay on a pretty strict schedule so I can predict when I will need to go. I have to monitor what, when, and how much I eat and drink."

Well, that explained why he was so particular about what he ate and why he ate so healthy.

"If any of that gets out of whack..." He paused, and the muscles in his jaw clenched briefly. Then he seemed to steel himself and looked her in the eye. "...I sometimes have accidents."

She took his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. His skin was too warm from the fever, but he felt so alive. "It's okay," she said, and she meant it. Now that she knew for certain how bad Sam's injury was, it all of a sudden didn't matter. He was still Sam.

He stared at his hand in hers. It made her feel self-conscious, but she didn't let go.

"I guess because I was sick, I wasn't paying attention. I got off my schedule. I haven't—it really hasn't happened in a long time."

He was so stoic as he spoke about it, so strong about a subject that would be hard for anyone to talk about, especially a guy. She squeezed his hand again, and his gaze traveled back to her.

"It's okay," she said. "Really."

"Did you—" He stopped abruptly and exhaled, which made him cough a little. "I...have to use a catheter. Did you read about all that stuff in your research?"

She nodded and shrugged. "Everyone has to go somehow. It's just science."

He regarded her sharply, and then, to her surprise, he grinned.

God, he was gorgeous. His dimples disarmed her every time he smiled.

"Yeah," he said. "Even the Queen of England has to go somehow, right?"

She smiled back, a little incredulous that he'd said that. "That's what my mamaw always used to say."

He was still grinning. "I know."

"Oh." She got a sinking feeling. "We've had this conversation before, haven't we?"

His smile turned apologetic. "Yeah, we have."

She let out a long breath. "That must get old, having to rehash everything and have the same conversations with me. I'm sorry."

He shook his head. "Don't apologize. I don't mind, even..." He hesitated and looked down. "...even when it's talking about some of the more difficult aspects of my disability."

She gave his hand another squeeze. "Don't be embarrassed, Sam."

"I'm not. I mean, not like I used to be. It's stuff I've come to terms with." He looked at her with intensity. "I just..."

She was so drawn to him. She couldn't have taken her eyes off him if she'd wanted to. "You just what?"

"I just don't want _you_ to be turned off by it. I don't wanna do anything that'll make you like me less than you already do. We keep arguing, and I know how hard all this is for you. And then, to top it all off," he said, looking away and running a hand through his hair, "I wet the friggin' bed. It's not exactly the smoothest thing a guy can do to impress a girl."

Her heart swelled with an emotion she couldn't name, and she fought the urge to put her arms around him. She was still holding his hand, and she gripped it even tighter. "That's not gonna make me like you less. Your disability isn't the problem."

He eyed her. "You've already said my disability makes you uncomfortable."

"I never should have said that." She felt herself flush. "It's not—I mean, yeah. I was afraid to be around you at first, afraid of saying the wrong thing, but it's not the wheelchair or your disability that makes me uneasy around you."

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

Why was she doing this, being so open with him? Because he was being so honest with her? "It's—I don't know. Every time I'm around you, I get antsy."

"Antsy how?"

She shrugged. "It's hard to describe."

"Good antsy or bad antsy?"

She poked her cheek with her tongue. "Um, both, maybe?"

He croaked out a chuckle and then traced her jawline with his thumb, gazing at her intently. "I can work with antsy," he rasped softly.

She felt something inside her ignite, a smoldering burn deep in her lower region. Oh, he was good. So very good. She wanted him to kiss her, and that was scary because she wasn't ready. She was still confused. Wasn't she?

She schooled her voice into what she hoped was a semblance of normalcy, trying not to let on that her hormones were raging. "We should probably get you back in bed. And we need to take precautions this time so you don't get a pressure sore on your ass."

He grinned. "Such a way with words, TJ."

She snorted. "That's me—a regular Shakespeare." She remembered about the lotion. "Should we put lotion on your legs first?"

"Dean told you about that?"

"Yeah."

He gave a halfhearted eye roll. "My big brother is sometimes overprotective. I can take care of myself. I already put lotion on after I showered."

"Oh."

"Thanks for asking though."

She was lost in his eyes for a second but then remembered to answer. "Um, you're welcome."

He leaned toward her and brushed his nose against hers, and she could feel the heat of his skin and his regretful smile. "If we're gonna start out as friends," he husked softly, "I probably shouldn't kiss you right now the way I want to—and I don't want to get you sick." Instead, he chastely kissed her forehead.

It only served to stoke the fire inside her more, and she wondered: How did they have sex if he couldn't feel it at all? What had it been like for her? She was intrigued and curious and was about to work up the nerve to ask him when he went into a fit of coughing, reminding her of how sick he was.

Once the attack was over, she got him settled in bed—pillows protecting his more vulnerable parts this time—and he was asleep by the time she was done with her ministrations. As she was quietly closing the door to his room, she glanced at his sleeping face one more time—and then it hit her. She bit her lip to keep a groan of frustration from escaping, angry with herself for letting him turn her brain to mush.

She'd forgotten to ask him about the poltergeist.

**XXXXXXXX**

TJ's eyes popped open, her heart racing. Something had woken her. There was a thunderstorm raging outside, but those usually didn't bother her. She normally slept right through them. She glanced at the digital clock glowing a muted red on her nightstand. 2_:53 a.m._

She lay there for a second, ears straining. And then she heard it: Sam crying out followed by a bark and a whimper from Rocket.

She jumped out of bed, no longer shocked as she'd been those first few days after she'd come home by the cold hardwood under her feet. Not bothering to put any slippers on, she raced out of her bedroom and down the hallway to Sam's room, passing her disheveled parents just opening their door. Her mother's usually neat blond hair was sticking up crazily in all directions, and she was hastily throwing on her mint-green robe, the sash hanging down loosely. Vern was wearing faded jeans and pulling on a denim shirt.

When TJ opened Sam's door, Rocket was beside himself, pacing the distance from Sam's bed to the door and back again. When he saw her, he whimpered and wagged his tail furiously, urging her to Sam's bedside.

TJ switched on the bedside lamp and saw that Sam was sweating profusely. The covers were pushed down to his waist, exposing his bare torso. He was panting, his breathing congested, and his head was thrashing from side to side. He was obviously in the throes of a nightmare.

"No!" he croaked. "They're gone! Dean!" His face crumpled into a ragged grimace and he slurred something incoherent. "Please. No. No!"

TJ gave his shoulders a shake and was shocked by how hot his skin was. He was like a furnace. "Sam! Sam, wake up!"

He was oblivious to her presence, lost in the terror of his dream. To her horror, blood began to trickle from his nose onto his upper lip.

"Oh, God. Please, Sam, wake up!" His hair was soaked, and she gently smoothed it back from his forehead. She took his face in her hands and stilled the motion of his head. "Sam, listen to me. It's TJ. Wake up."

His eyes finally opened, wild and full of fear. He was still panting and began to cough.

"Shh," she soothed. She sat down on the side of the bed next to him and grabbed a tissue, wiping away the blood from his upper lip. "It's okay. It's just a bad dream. Everything's okay."

He shut his eyes tightly, grimacing like he was in terrible pain, and pinched the bridge of his nose. She glanced at her parents, uncertain what she should do next. Her mother gave a short nod, the expression on her face reassuring, telling TJ that she was doing the right thing, to keep doing what she was doing.

TJ wrapped her arms around Sam, supporting his shoulders, and helped him sit up. He buried his head in the curve of her neck, his hot forehead searing her skin. He was shaking.

She cast another look at Fern. "Mama, he's burnin' up."

Fern grabbed the thermometer off the nightstand and gently placed it in Sam's ear. He hadn't moved and was still resting his head in the curve of TJ's shoulder. She instinctively rubbed his back, trying to calm him. His skin was slick with sweat. "Shh," she soothed. "It was just a nightmare. Everything's okay."

The thermometer beeped, and Fern read it with a frown. "103.4."

Worry rippled through TJ. "It's up from this afternoon. Should we take him to the emergency room? The nosebleed—"

"No," Sam croaked, and then he started to cough.

"Do you want me to help you cough?" TJ asked.

He raised his head and shook it. "No. No." He fisted her T-shirt. "The twins." His eyes still had the wild, frantic look to them. "Where are they?"

Fern spoke up in a smooth, calming voice. "They're fine, hon. I put them to bed. I've got the monitor in my room and haven't heard a peep from 'em."

That seemed to alarm Sam even more, and he started breathing rapidly again. He turned his eyes to TJ, and she was astonished by the intensity of his fear. He suddenly gripped her shoulders. "We have to go check on them."

"Okay, okay." She pulled back the covers and started removing the pillows from under his legs. He was wearing his gray sweatpants, and his wheelchair cushion was under his hips. He leaned to one side and pulled it out from under him.

"I'll go check on the babies, hon," offered Fern.

"No," he rasped. "The salt. Do you have the bags of salt?" His gaze was filled with meaning when he looked at her parents.

To TJ's surprise, Fern and Vern glanced at each other and then back to Sam, a new level of concern on their faces, like Sam's question made perfect sense. Vern nodded. "We'll get started."

TJ got out of Sam's way, and he quickly placed his cushion in the seat of his chair and transferred himself. Once his bare feet were hastily settled on the footplate, he wheeled out the door, pushing himself with urgent purpose. Rocket trotted behind him, alert and agitated. Both of them seemed to have forgotten TJ's existence.

She stood there in the sudden, eerie quiet of Sam's room and stared at the empty doorway, wondering what on earth salt had to do with Sam's nightmare and the twins.

_**TBC**_


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: Thanks to sallyloveslinus, Catsluver, and skzb, the best betas anyone could ever ask for.  
**

**Thanks to those who reviewed as guests. Your comments are welcomed and adored. The rest of you already know I love you!  
**

**Chapter 22**

TJ walked into the living room and saw her dad holding a large bag of rock salt, pouring it on all the windowsills and across the threshold of the front door. She glanced into the kitchen and saw her mother doing the same to the back door. What the hell was going on?

Her mother jerked her head toward the dining room, where the pocket doors were open. "Go check on Sam."

TJ didn't hesitate. He'd been so distraught. She'd thought his ramblings had been the fever talking, but the fact that her parents were doing his bidding without question and pouring salt everywhere was baffling.

When she walked into the converted dining room, Sam was sitting in his wheelchair next to Sami Joy's crib. He was still clad in only his gray sweatpants, his muscular torso bare and shimmering from sweat in the soft glow of the Winnie the Pooh nightlight that was plugged into the nearby wall outlet.

The sight of Sam caused TJ's stomach to flutter, and she admonished herself. What was wrong with her? He was sick, not to mention the fact that something very weird was going on, and now was not the time for her treacherous hormones to be lusting after him.

Rocket, who was sitting by Sam's side, came over to her and gave a furtive wag of his tail. TJ scratched his head, grateful for the distraction.

There were two natural-wood cribs in the room, and a twin slept in each one. Both cribs were outfitted with hydraulic motors that raised the mattresses up so Sam could reach the babies over the railing while in his chair. TJ was told the cribs were gifts from Dean and Bobby, both mechanics, who had figured out how to install the motors.

The babies were sleeping soundly on their backs, their mattresses lowered so that they were safely below the tops of the rails. Each twin had on a SleepSack—pink for Sami Joy and blue for Robby—which were essentially wearable blankets. Their little hands were curled into loose fists that rested by their heads. They looked sweet and adorable.

It hit her in that moment that Sam was right when he'd said the time she was missing with Robby and Sami Joy was time she would never get back. She got a lump in her throat. The twins were half hers, her flesh and blood, and they were beautiful, precious gifts. She needed to get to know them. She _wanted_ to get to know them. Why had she been so resistant? She'd been overwhelmed, confused, devastated even, but that was no excuse. She was their _mother, _for God's sake, and it was time she started acting like it.

One of Sam's arms was draped over the top of the rail of Sami Joy's crib, and his forehead rested on his arm. He was staring through the slats in the railing at Sami Joy's chest, watching her breathe.

TJ tentatively walked over to Robby's crib and barely touched Robby's belly with her palm, feeling the warmth of his little body and the reassuring rise and fall of his chest.

"They're okay," Sam whispered. He seemed a little surprised and profoundly relieved. His head still rested against his arm, and the burst of energy he'd exhibited when he'd woken from his nightmare was gone. His broad shoulders were slumped, and he looked utterly exhausted and drained, on the verge of collapse.

TJ moved closer to him and placed a hand on his bare shoulder. He was shivering, despite the heat radiating from his skin. "Sam," she whispered, "we need to get you back in bed."

He stayed there for a second, not moving, but then he wearily leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes with a wince.

"Is your head hurting?"

He gave a listless nod.

"Come on, then," she whispered, bending near his ear. "Would you...like me to push you?" She was surprised and worried when he again nodded. She got the feeling he wouldn't normally let himself be pushed.

They all congregated back in Sam's room. Both of Sam's legs had begun to spasm, and he eyed the bed warily from his chair. TJ could see that he dreaded the transfer.

"Son, you need some help gettin' back into bed?" Vern offered.

Sam shook his head. "No. I got it." With shaky arms that made TJ a little nervous, he managed to transfer himself onto the bed, despite his jiggling legs. No one really said anything else until after TJ helped him get settled, pillows in place. He was shivering even more, and Fern insisted that he put on a sweatshirt before TJ covered him to his chin with the quilt.

TJ sat on the bed next to him and brushed a few strands of damp hair from his face. At some point, Fern had gotten a cool, damp washrag from the bathroom, and she handed it to TJ. TJ folded it and placed it on his forehead. He closed his eyes.

"I think you need another dose of NyQuil," said TJ. "And I'm takin' you to the doctor tomorrow."

He opened his eyes. "N-no. No doctor." His teeth were chattering and he was fighting a cough.

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, the doctor. Your fever is up and you woke with a nosebleed, for heaven's sake. That can't be good. Plus, it's obvious you've got a bad headache"

He shook his head. "Don't wanna g-go to the doctor. S' just a cold."

She thought of Dean's warning, how Sam might be more susceptible to an infection. She was taking Sam to the doctor tomorrow if she and her dad had to drag him there, but she wasn't about to tell Sam that. She didn't want to cause him any more stress. He'd had enough for one night. She'd tackle the doctor issue in the morning.

Fern appeared by Sam's bed and handed TJ a small, plastic measuring cup with bluish green liquid in it. "Here's the NyQuil, hon."

Sam was looking at TJ through half-open lids.

"Cheers," she told him with a look of sympathy. She held the cup to his lips and supported his head with her other hand so he could take the medicine. He took it stoically without even a grimace, although she knew from personal experience that the stuff tasted awful.

"I'm gonna hit the hay. Goodnight, y'all," said Vern.

Fern bent down and gave Sam a motherly kiss on his forehead. "Rest easy, sugar."

"Thanks," he rasped. He sounded stopped up.

Fern gave TJ a squeeze on the shoulder and then left with Vern.

Once they were gone, TJ grabbed a tissue from the nightstand and held it to Sam's nose. "Blow."

His hands appeared from under the covers, and he took the tissue from her with his long fingers and blew his nose, then tossed the tissue in the trashcan by his bed before burying his hands back under the covers. TJ didn't see any blood on the tissue and was relieved that his nosebleed hadn't lasted long.

"I guess I'll say goodnight, too."

He blinked languidly. "'Kay." His shivering finally seemed to be subsiding, although his legs were still spasming. TJ tried not to pay it any mind.

Rocket was once again by Sam's side on the bed, curled into a ball. There was no reason for her to stay, but she didn't want to go. "So, are you gonna be okay?"

"Yeah."

She hesitated, still not making a move to leave. "That was...a pretty bad dream. It must have been very vivid to get you so upset."

Sam's expression was unreadable. "It was."

"Do you...wanna talk about it?"

He coughed, and a large fist suddenly appeared from under the bedspread to cover his mouth. "No," he croaked, and there was weariness in his tone that seemed to go deeper than just exhaustion.

She wanted answers, but he didn't seem in any condition for the third degree, and it was four o'clock in the morning. Now didn't seem the time to push it. "Okay," she said, and got up to leave.

His hand shot out and he caught her wrist. She felt a current of warmth ripple through her.

"I'm cold."

His words contradicted the jolt of heat she'd just gotten from him. "You're not shivering anymore," she challenged.

There was a roguish gleam in his eye, despite how obviously tired and crappy he felt. "I'm still cold. It's sometimes hard for me to get my body temp regulated."

"You want another blanket?"

His dimples made a showing and he spoke with innuendo. "Body heat is better."

She poked her cheek with her tongue and held in a smile. "You're kindly transparent," she drawled, having a grammar lapse before she realized what she was saying. She was embarrassed that she'd sounded like a hillbilly in front of him.

He gave her another round of dimples. "I like the way you talk," he said hoarsely, reading her mind. "Your accent is more pronounced than it used to be in San Diego. It used to only come out when you were mad or emotional about something."

"Really?'' she said with raised brows. That was something to consider. Apparently, Other TJ even talked differently. "Sorry. I probably sound like a hick to you."

His eyes darkened into something that made her get that longing feeling deep in her core. "Like I said," he rasped softly, "I like the way you talk."

Her mouth went a little dry and she swallowed. "Um, you need to rest." She tugged on her wrist, but he held on, his eyes not leaving her face.

"Goodnight, Sam," she said pointedly.

"I'm still cold." The steamy look he was giving her was anything but cold.

She leaned in close to him, her nose almost touching his. "I think Rocket will provide all the body heat you need."

He smirked. "Rocket's _kindly_ short. Someone taller would be better."

"I'm not gettin' in bed with you," she declared with an amused smile.

"Can't blame me for trying," he said, as he gently let go of her wrist.

She straightened, tucked his hand back under the covers, and took the now-warm compress from his forehead. "Goodnight, Sam."

He closed his eyes, his lips curved with humor. "Goodnight, TJ."

When she reached the door, she noticed that her nipples were taut and straining against the cotton of her light-blue pajama T-shirt, and she felt herself blush. God, what he did to her. She looked back at him before turning off the light. He was already in a NyQuil-and-fever-induced slumber. She would let him rest for now, but tomorrow she wanted answers from someone, and she wouldn't stop until she got them.

**XXXXXXXX**

It wasn't even daylight yet when TJ heard the door to her parents' room open, and she knew her mother would be going to tend to Robby and Sami Joy. A glance at the alarm clock confirmed that it was five-thirty in the morning. _Who needs an alarm clock when you have the twins?_ TJ mused.

She got out of bed, threw on an unfamiliar black SDSU sweatshirt over her T-shirt just in case her nipples decided to vie for attention, and headed to the kitchen. On her way, she peeked in at Sam. He was still asleep, but Rocket jumped off the bed and trotted out the door TJ held open, ready for his morning constitutional.

There was coffee perking in the Mr. Coffee when she reached the kitchen. Her dad was preparing two baby bottles, scooping out Enfamil and mixing it with water, and Fern was in the dining room cooing to the babies. One of them was crying, and TJ frowned, feeling a strong urge to see what was going on, to soothe.

Vern looked at her knowingly. "That's Sami Joy. She don't like gettin' her diaper changed. I suspect she don't like the cold air on her bottom."

"Oh." She watched her dad make the bottles. "Aren't you supposed to heat those or something?"

"Nope. That's a myth. If they'll take 'em at room temperature, it makes things easier. You don't have to worry about bottle warmers or microwaves. You just mix and go."

TJ nodded faintly as she let Rocket outside. She frowned when she saw that she'd disturbed the line of salt across the threshold of the back door, and she was reminded of why she'd gotten up with the rooster.

Vern didn't seem to notice and went on talking about the twins. "It took them awhile to learn to suck on the bottle, but now they're pros—and they're sure not lacking any in their appetites. They'll take that formula any way it comes."

TJ drew in a breath, steeling her nerves. "Daddy, I need to talk to you and Mama about what happened with Sam, and I wanna know the truth about him."

Vern was screwing a silicon nipple onto one of the bottles, and he paused to look up at her. He nodded gravely, like it was time to pay the piper. "I figured as much."

Just then, Fern walked into the kitchen carrying Robby in his bouncer and set him on the breakfast counter. "TJ, run and get Sami Joy for me, hon."

TJ gave her dad a look that said he was only getting a temporary reprieve and did as she was told, finding Sami Joy in her bouncer in the dining room. Sami Joy was staring at the toys hanging over her head. "Whatcha doin', Sami-girl?" cooed TJ.

Sami Joy's large brown eyes shifted to TJ, already a bit of drool surrounding her mouth. She was wearing a bib that matched the pink footed onesie she was wearing, and TJ dabbed her face with it.

Sami Joy's face lit up with a sweet, dimpled smile, and TJ laughed, her heart filling with delight. She couldn't resist and kissed Sami Joy on the top of her head, smelling the fresh, clean scent of baby shampoo and feeling the baby's silky hair brush her lips. It was divine.

TJ took the baby into the kitchen and set her next to her brother on the counter. Robby, who was in a blue footed onesie, was staring at his fingers as if they were the most fascinating thing on earth. TJ kissed him on his head before she could overthink it or feel self-conscious and made a note to herself that she really needed to expand the babies' wardrobe beyond pink and blue.

Vern set the bottles on the counter, and Fern started taking Robby out of his bouncer and then held him in the crook of her arm. "You wanna feed Sami Joy?" she asked TJ.

TJ felt a twinge of apprehension.

Fern rolled her eyes. "Hon, if your daddy can do it, you can."

Vern looked indignant. "I don't know what to make of that remark."

"Nothin', hon," Fern said, patting his arm. "You're an expert."

He eyed her suspiciously.

TJ unhooked the harness that held Sami Joy in the bouncer and carefully pulled her out, holding her in the crook of her arm the way Fern held Robby. She grabbed one of the bottles off the counter.

"You might want to sit down at the table," suggested Vern. "It's easier that way."

TJ sat down at the farm table, and Fern sat down near her. TJ watched Fern, copying her movements, and soon Sami Joy and Robby were both nursing greedily at their bottles.

TJ laughed. "I can't believe how loud they are."

"Mm-hm," said Fern, smiling fondly. She peered at TJ. "You're doin' good."

TJ stared at the little girl in her arms, making eye contact with her, and she suddenly understood the look of wonder and love she'd seen on Sam's face whenever he held the twins. She realized the person she'd hurt the most by refusing to interact with the twins was herself. She was an idiot for denying herself moments like this—all because she'd felt sorry for herself and had been a coward.

"When the bottle is about half gone," said Vern after a few minutes, "you might want to switch arms so she sees you from a different angle. It has to do with how it helps their eyes develop better or something." He looked to Fern for confirmation.

Fern nodded. "That's what the nurses said. Plus, it helps her little tummy if you try to burp her about half way, too."

Since Sami Joy had already drunk about half the bottle, TJ gently broke the baby's latch on the nipple and set the bottle on the table, then shifted Sami Joy to her shoulder.

"Here," said Vern, placing a burp cloth between Sami Joy's cheek and TJ's shoulder.

TJ began to pat Sami Joy lightly on the back.

Vern looked dissatisfied. "Uh-uh. You're gonna have to be firmer than that. Watch how your mama's doin' it." Fern was patting Robby firmly enough on the back that TJ could hear the gentle thumps.

TJ was afraid to pat any harder. "I—I don't want to hurt her."

"You won't," Vern said with encouragement. "She's tougher than she looks."

TJ tried to emulate Fern, patting Sami Joy more firmly on the back. Vern showed TJ how to put the baby higher on her shoulder so that there would be a little more pressure on Sami Joy's tummy that might help her burp faster. TJ couldn't believe that the simple act of burping a baby could be so complicated. She had a lot to learn.

Finally, Sami Joy gave a robust burp. "Goodness," said TJ in a silly, munchkin voice, "do you feel better?"

Fern and Vern both laughed. TJ blushed, feeling a little self-conscious for some reason.

"You wanna switch with me and feed Robby for a while?" asked Fern.

TJ nodded, and she and Fern switched babies. TJ held Robby and began feeding him. His lighter, dusky blue eyes locked onto hers, and TJ loved the smacking noise he made as he nursed the bottle and the idly graceful way he opened and closed his tiny fingers. She was just as smitten with Robby as she'd been with Sami Joy.

They were all quiet for a few minutes, content to watch the babies nurse. Then TJ happened to glance at the windowsill and noticed the salt on it. She could see it through the gauzy, sheer curtains, the salt glistening in the first light of the newly-rising sun. She felt a quiver of unease and cleared her throat. "So, are you gonna tell me what's up with all the salt everywhere?"

Fern and Vern shared a look, and neither of them spoke.

"And don't tell me to ask Sam," TJ said preemptively. Robby stopped nursing, and she set the bottle down on the table and shifted him to her shoulder so she could burp him. "I want answers. It was weird last night how you two did what Sam said without even questioning it."

Still, Vern and Fern were silent and tight-lipped.

"Come on, y'all. I have a right to know. What's the big secret? Somebody needs to fuckin' tell me."

"Watch your mouth, TJ, especially around these babies," admonished Fern.

"Sorry," said TJ, genuinely chastened. "But I wanna know what's goin' on."

Fern sighed. "Have you tried talking to Sam?"

"Yes. I asked him how he got hurt."

"What did he tell you?" asked Vern.

TJ huffed. "He said he got stabbed by a poltergeist. He was obviously trippin' on NyQuil."

Again, her parents shared a look, and then Vern trained serious, piercing blue eyes on her. "He wasn't high on NyQuil. He was tellin' the truth."

TJ didn't know what to think of that, couldn't comprehend it, and she just sat there, staring dumbly at her parents.

Fern continued, her tone quiet. "Sam and his brother were hunters."

"Hunters?" TJ tried to picture Sam in typical hunting garb—camouflage and an orange hunting cap—but it just didn't fit him. He was too citified and not redneck enough. She started to feel uneasy. Something didn't jive here, and what did it all have to do with a poltergeist and salt?

Vern shook his head a little and seemed to read her thoughts. "Sam and Dean weren't regular hunters, not like deer or turkey hunters. They didn't hunt animals—well, not regular kinds of animals. I think Dean still hunts occasionally, and Sam sometimes helps with research."

TJ frowned. "Why would Sam have to do research to go hunting?" Remembering the scars she'd seen on him, her unease grew. "And exactly what kinds of animals did they hunt?" she added.

Fern and Vern shared an uneasy look. Finally, Fern was the one who spoke. "They hunted supernatural things like ghosts, werewolves, vampires—basically anything you've ever read about in bedtime stories or seen in horror movies." She grew solemn. "Sam and Dean were trying to get rid of a poltergeist in a house that was haunted when the poltergeist made a knife fly through the air and stab Sam in the back."

TJ blinked and her stomach clenched. The visual of Sam being stabbed was extremely disturbing, even if there was no way it could really be true. What the hell? And her parents actually believed this? Stabbed by a poltergeist? The notion was insane.

Good God Almighty, when was she going to wake up to her normal life? How was she going to escape this strange alternate reality she'd woken up to? Just when she was beginning to come to terms with things, with the twins and maybe even Sam, her parents laid this on her? Maybe they'd gone crazy like Aunt Liv. Maybe aliens had invaded Earth and caused all parents to go nuts. Why not? That was as feasible as what her parents had just told her about Sam.

Her dad was gazing steadily at her, watching her closely. "Sam also hunted demons."

Oh, demons. Of course.

"One actually targeted Sam and wanted him to lead Lucifer's army."

Lucifer's army. Naturally. TJ fought a surge of hysteria, almost laughing at the macabre idea of Sam leading the devil's army.

"The Yellow-Eyed Demon—that's what they call him—almost killed you, Dean, and Bobby. That was when you first found out about Sam's past."

Almost killed her? Holy shit! She wanted her dad to stop talking. Each time he spoke, something even weirder came out of his mouth.

Fern reached over and squeezed TJ's arm. "I know it's hard to believe, but you're the one who told us all of this, TJ. You knew about it. You saw it firsthand."

TJ shook her head in denial. This was too much. This was _crazy_.

"The salt is to keep the demons and ghosts out," said Vern. "For some reason—something about salt being a pure element—they can't get past a line of it. Sam..." He trailed off and glanced at Fern like he was looking for help.

Ferna Sue's hand still rested on TJ's arm, and she gave it another squeeze. "Sam warned us a while ago that we might have to salt the windows and doors, that we might find ourselves in danger because of his past. So when he told us to do it last night, we didn't question him. I think he probably did just have a bad dream, but better to be safe than sorry. Plus, he seemed so riled up and terrified for the twins, it was better to humor him than to upset him more."

TJ was suddenly furious. "I don't believe any of this. It's all bullshit. Sam is a conman or something, and y'all have fallen for his lies hook, line, and sinker!"

Vern looked at her with dismay, but he spoke patiently. "Sam is not a liar. He's a good man. He was raised in the hunting life and was a damn good hunter until he got hurt. He and Dean risked their lives countless times to save others, to try to rid the world of evil."

TJ finally lost control and burst into laughter that was both cynical and a bit unhinged. "Do you realize how ridiculous that sounds? 'Rid the world of evil'? It sounds like a line from a Superman movie or something. What? Are Sam and Dean friggin' superheroes?"

Aggravation flashed in Vern's bright blue eyes, but he spoke evenly. "Not superheroes. Just flesh-and-blood men doing a thankless job. They lost their father to their 'job.' Sam sustained a devastating injury because of it. The demon that came after you also killed his mother when he was a baby. It's a long story that Sam can explain much better than I can, but don't scorn him. He's been through a lot, TJ, and he don't deserve your contempt."

Robby began to fuss, and TJ wondered if he was being affected by the anger and galling bewilderment she felt. She instinctively jiggled him up and down and shushed soothingly into his ear. Once he quieted, she kept her voice even when she spoke to her parents, trying not to upset him further. "Y'all are nuts or else you've fallen for Sam's charm and those puppy-dog eyes of his. The only thing I can't figure out is what's in it for him. I mean, obviously, we aren't exactly rollin' in the dough."

Vern pursed his lips together in frustration.

"TJ," said Fern in a logical tone, "that's your answer right there. What purpose would Sam have to lie? He's your _husband, _and you've started a family together. Like you said, he didn't marry you for your money. There's no reason for him to make any of this up."

"Unless he's loony as a bedbug."

Fern pressed her lips together in a similar look to Vern, and no one said anything for a moment. Then, finally, Fern spoke. "Do you believe in God?"

"Yes." TJ's tone was cautious.

"Then you believe that He exists," Fern confirmed.

TJ was suspicious and eyed her mother guardedly. "Yes. Of course I believe He exists."

"Then, if you believe in God, do you believe in the possibility of angels?"

TJ realized where Fern was going with this. "Yes, and I believe in the devil and hell and the possibility of demons, too, but that don't mean I'll ever believe that Sam Winchester fought 'em or that one wanted him to lead Lucifer's army!"

"Why not?" asked Vern reasonably. "If God, angels, demons, and the devil can exist, why is it so farfetched that Lucifer could have wanted to recruit Sam for his army? After all, regular people through the ages have been asked by God to do extraordinary things. You just never met one of 'em before. Who's to say Lucifer wouldn't do the same thing?"

Vern's rationale sent a shiver down TJ's spine. "Does—does that mean Sam is evil, then?"

"No," said Vern, shaking his head. "I think he and his brother were too good at fighting evil. I think Lucifer would rather have had Sam on his side than as an enemy, so he tried to persuade Sam to join him. His agent, the Yellow-Eyed Demon, offered Sam a cure for his paralysis. Like I said, it's a long story, but Sam refused the cure and killed the bastard in the process."

TJ's chest tightened and she got a sickening knot in her belly. She couldn't imagine having to make such a choice, and it made her queasy to think of Sam having to do so. Then, after a second, she realized she was actually considering all this nonsense might be true. She shook her head. "I can't—I just can't believe this."

Her mind was reeling with all that her parents had just told her. Was she the only person left in the house that was sane? She was frightened and felt lost again—just when she was starting to find her way. She buried her nose in the tuft of soft, dark hair on Robby's head, inhaling the baby scent of it, needing it. It was soothing and helped to calm her nerves slightly.

Fern's tone was gentle, her green eyes filled with sympathy and understanding. "Now you can see why all of us were hesitant to tell you everything, sugar."

TJ felt like she was about to choke, and she swallowed hard.

"You've been through so much," Fern went on. "You've had so much to deal with and adjust to. We wanted to wait until we thought you were ready before we told you—after you got to know Sam better. And our thinking was that it was Sam's story to tell, that you should hear it from him, but now I'm not so sure. I think maybe it's best you heard it from us first. You _know _us, TJ. You know we love you, and we would never lie to you."

For a very long moment, TJ just sat there, trying to let everything sink in. This whole conversation was so surreal. Finally, she stood and woodenly handed Robby to Vern. "I—um, I'm gonna go get dressed."

Vern started to speak. "TJ—"

"I—I need time, Daddy. I need to think."

Vern looked leery and Fern was frowning, but as TJ started to leave, neither of them tried to stop her.

On her way to her room, she stopped by Sam's door and quietly opened it. He was still sound asleep, even though it was an hour past when he usually woke up. She studied his face. There was an exotic slant to his eyes that wasn't noticeable when he was awake. His nose was kind of long and pointy in silhouette, but combined with the other attractive, masculine features of the rest of his face, the whole effect was stunningly handsome.

He looked so innocent when he slept, so peaceful. It was hard to believe there could be a dishonest bone in his body, that he could, for some reason, be pulling the wool over her parents' eyes—or that he was certifiably off his rocker. Her parents were right. Barring the possible craziness factor, he had no reason to lie.

He'd done nothing to make her think he was nuts. On the contrary, he seemed to be one of the most grounded, down-to-earth people she'd ever met. She'd never seen him be anything but kind to people and animals alike, had never seen him really lose his temper, although she knew she'd sorely tested it. He'd been nothing but a gentleman to her, even after she'd been such a bitch to him. Then there was the way he was with the twins. He was so good with them and obviously loved them very much. Instinctively, she knew that he would give his life for them and would do anything to protect them.

Of course, who was to say that crazy people didn't love their children too? And weren't a lot of serial killers the normal guy next door that no one ever thought would hurt a fly? The thought was alarming.

Sam stirred a bit and tilted his head on his pillow. A shock of his dark hair fell forward onto his fever-flushed cheek. He didn't look dangerous right now, that was for sure, but the question remained: Was he a conman, a nut job, or a hero?

**XXXXXXXX**

Later in the day, Sam was asleep again, head lolled back against the headrest of TJ's passenger seat, snoring faintly because of his stopped up nose. TJ pulled into a disabled parking space at Kroger's grocery store, right next to the building, and rolled down the windows. It was hot outside, but the building cast a shadow that provided shade over the car, and a breeze blew through the car's open windows. She hoped Sam would be comfortable and wouldn't wake, but if he did, hopefully he'd figure out that she was inside getting his prescription filled.

She had a moment of uncertainty as she looked at the disabled permit hanging from her rearview mirror. The permit made it legal for her to park in the accessible spot. She didn't have to worry about getting a ticket, but was she being inconsiderate? Sam was with her, but he wasn't getting out. Was she a bad person for parking there since, technically, she didn't need the space? She felt a twinge of guilt but decided she wouldn't be there very long. Besides, there were still two other accessible spaces open, and she wanted Sam to be in the shade.

She got out of the car and shut her door. Sam didn't so much as twitch at the noise. He was out cold. She was relieved and hurried into the store.

Fern had called this morning as soon as the med clinic opened and managed to get Sam worked in to the doctor's schedule. The med clinic was in Colleyville, a town twenty-five minutes away from Moss Fork. Colleyville was bigger than Moss Fork, and people from Moss Fork usually went to the doctor there and did any bigger grocery shopping needed, since the closest Kroger was there. The only grocery store in Moss Fork was a small IGA, and it didn't have a pharmacy.

It was a ten-minute drive from the med clinic to Kroger's, and Sam had conked out the minute he got in the car. The doctor's visit had worn him out. The doctor that saw him, a Dr. Sullivan, suspected that Sam had a sinus infection and an upper respiratory infection and prescribed an antibiotic, plenty of bed rest, and drinking lots of fluids.

Dr. Sullivan warned that if the antibiotic didn't start working within a day or so and Sam didn't get any better, TJ was to bring him back for more extensive tests, that Sam could develop pneumonia if they weren't careful. She hoped the antibiotic would work. Sam hadn't been too thrilled about being dragged to the doctor and had tightened his jaw in resistance. The only thing that had persuaded him to relent was Fern, who told him the sooner he got better, the sooner he could see the twins—but she wasn't letting him near Sami Joy and Robby until he saw the doctor.

He was still asleep when TJ got back to the car, a small white pharmacy bag full of medicine in her hand. She got in, set the bag on the console between her and Sam, and turned the key in the ignition. Then she rolled up the windows and started backing out of the parking space.

The sudden motion of the car moving again finally woke him. His soft, congested snoring was interrupted, and he lifted his head and looked sleepily at his surroundings, green-gold eyes coming to rest on her.

She quirked her brows at him and then pulled onto the road.

He let his head fall back on the headrest, and she thought he was going back to sleep. She was surprised when he spoke.

"You've been quiet," he rasped.

She shrugged. "You were asleep."

"I mean this whole trip. You've hardly said a word." He coughed into his fist.

"There's some cough drops in the bag."

He didn't make a move toward the bag. Instead, he placed his hand on top of hers, which was resting on the gearshift. Heat radiated from him into her and she felt suddenly feverish, even though she wasn't sick.

"I know what happened last night probably seemed strange."

She stiffened.

"There's...there's a lot of things I need to tell you, TJ, but I..." He trailed off and ran his other hand absently through his long hair.

"You what?"

His brow furrowed into that soulful look of his. She tried to steel herself against it, but it was hard. He looked so earnest, like a lie could never come from his lips. She turned her gaze back to the road.

"I don't want to scare you."

She snorted and moved her hand out from under his, grabbing the steering wheel. "Oh, why would I be scared?" she said with false lightness. "You mean because you and Dean used to fight ghosts and demons? Because Lucifer wanted you to lead his army?"

He was silent.

She dropped the light tone and got serious. "My parents told me about what you and Dean used to do—how you got hurt. I guess you weren't loopy on NyQuil after all when you told me a poltergeist stabbed you."

Her attention was on the road, but she could feel him studying her.

"So...do you believe your parents?" He sounded wary.

She hesitated. She'd had a little more time to process it all, but she still wasn't sure what to think. She trusted her parents and had always looked to them for guidance. They weren't the type to be easily duped, yet there was no doubt they were behind Sam one hundred percent. Nevertheless, Sam's alleged past was just so fantastical, so farfetched. She was having a hard time wrapping her mind around it.

Finally, she decided to be honest. "I don't know what to believe. It's all so strange. But, like my mom pointed out, I believe in God and angels, so I guess it's not that much of a stretch to believe you could've had a run-in with a demon."

"Did Fern and Vern—did they tell you everything?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. They glossed over some things. They said you could explain things better, like the whole Lucifer-and-his-army thing."

He grimaced and pinched the bridge of his nose, then let his hand drop and looked at her wearily. "Did they tell you about the blood?"

Well, that sounded ominous. She frowned. "What blood?"

He let out a long sigh, which resulted in a cough. He searched the pharmacy bag and took what seemed like forever to procure a cough drop. Then he stared straight ahead at the windshield and didn't say anything.

TJ could smell the menthol of his cough drop and hear the drop clack occasionally against his teeth. He was quiet for so long that she grew impatient. "What blood? What are you talking about?"

He let out another congested sigh before he began. "I don't—I don't understand all of it myself. My mother was killed when I was six months old." He said it in a flat tone, like he was remembering an old, deep pain that left him hollow and bone-tired. "She was trying to save me from Azazel, a demon that my dad always called the Yellow-Eyed Demon. Azazel—he—it was cruel, the way he murdered my mother. My dad spent the rest of his life trying to kill the demon and avenge my mother's death."

"Why you? What did the demon want with you?"

"I was one of the 'chosen' children,'" he said bitterly. "My mother walked in on the demon dripping his blood into my mouth."

TJ was so morbidly engrossed in his story that she forgot to pay attention to driving. The car veered onto the shoulder, and she quickly corrected it and turned her eyes back to the road. "What—I don't understand. I mean, that's disgusting and disturbing, but what would ingesting demon blood do to you?"

"It...tainted me." His jaw hardened. "No one knew for a long time because my mom wasn't alive to tell the tale, but..." He trailed off and waited a beat to speak. "It's so fucked up, TJ. After high school, I got a full scholarship to Stanford. I did most of my undergrad there."

Mercy. She'd been impressed that he'd gotten a full ride to Berkeley Law. No one had told her he did his undergrad at Stanford. He must be a freakin' genius. "Wow."

He shrugged. "I didn't graduate from Stanford. I finished the last of my undergrad requirements at SDSU."

"Why didn't you graduate from Stanford?"

"I had a girlfriend there. Her name was Jessica, and I loved her very much. I was gonna ask her to marry me."

She felt a pang of something that was suspiciously like jealousy, and it made her uncomfortable. "What happened?"

"The demon killed her the same way he killed my mother. He pinned her to the ceiling of our apartment and set her on fire."

TJ was horrified. "Good God Almighty. Why?"

Sam closed his eyes, a pained grimace on his face. "She got in the way of Lucifer's plans. He was grooming me and others like me to be his soldiers. Azazel said I was his favorite because I grew up as a hunter, but I wanted to leave the hunting life. I wanted a normal life with Jessica—the white-picket fence, 2.5 kids, the works—but Lucifer wanted me hunting, honing my skills as a soldier. So, Azazel killed her. She died because of me."

Any feelings of jealousy for Jessica—if that's even what TJ had felt—died instantly, and she was filled with empathy for what Sam must have gone through. "I'm so sorry."

He went on. "I left Stanford the fall semester of my senior year and got back into hunting with Dean. I wanted revenge. I wanted to find Azazel and roast him on a spit." His expression was stony. "I played right into his hands."

"What do you mean?"

"He knew I would get back into hunting if he killed Jessica. That's what he wanted." He smiled darkly without mirth. "He just didn't count on a poltergeist stabbing me in the back and sending me into early retirement."

TJ was utterly astounded. This was even worse and way more frightening than what her parents had told her, but she was starting to believe. It was too horrific to make up, and the anguish and smoldering hatred just under the surface of Sam's stoic facade was genuine. She could feel it deep in her core.

"At first, after my injury, Azazel left me alone. I didn't—" He stopped abruptly and swallowed like there was something distasteful in his mouth. Then he looked at her, eyes tormented. "Right before Jess died, I started having visions."

"Visions, like, of the future?"

He nodded. "Mostly, I saw people dying. Dean and I tried to save them, but we were too late a lot of the time. I even...I even saw Jess's death before it happened."

"Oh, my Lord, Sam." What an awful thing to have to live with.

"It wasn't just the visions. A few times, I was able to move things—objects—with my mind."

"Holy shit." What was he gonna say next? She was almost to the point of no longer being shocked anymore.

"After my spinal cord injury, it all stopped. At the time, I didn't know why. I didn't know anything about Azazel until almost a year into my injury. Then he showed up one day and made me an offer."

"A cure if you'd lead Lucifer's army?"

His brows came together but then he nodded. "Your parents told you?"

"Yeah. I'm so sorry. I can't imagine how difficult that choice must have been."

A myriad of emotions flashed across his face as he remembered, but he shrugged it off. "We're talking the end of the world or me living with paraplegia. It was kind of a no-brainer."

She was overwhelmed by his strength of will and his selflessness. Her dad had been right. Sam's middle name was sacrifice. "Right. A no-brainer." She looked at him, shaking her head with admiration and disbelief. What was the proper way to thank someone for single-handedly stopping _Lucifer_? She settled for simplicity. "Just the same, on behalf of the entire world and myself, thanks."

He huffed a raspy laugh.

It was a relief to see his dimples. "So," she said, "you killed Azazel and then what?"

"Then you and I fell in love and we went on with our lives—until you got pregnant."

"And then I had a stroke and fell into a coma and woke up a fuckin' eighteen-year-old."

He looked guilty. "It's more complicated than that."

She burst out laughing, and it felt good to release the tension that had been building inside her. "That's already pretty dang complicated, if you ask me."

He grinned. "Welcome to life with a Winchester."

"So how is it more complicated?"

The grin on his face dissolved, and he blew out a long puff of air. "The demon blood in me—I don't—I don't know much about it. My hope was that the powers or whatever you want to call them—the visions and the telekinesis that came with the blood—died with Azazel, but when you were pregnant..." He searched her face and then looked down. It was clear he didn't want to finish what he was saying.

She didn't know if she wanted to hear it. She concentrated on driving, afraid to look at him.

He started coughing, despite the cough drop in his mouth, and it was a moment before he could speak again. The coughing spell seemed to wear him out, and he rested his head against the headrest.

She'd forgotten during their conversation how sick he really was, and she felt guilty. "You should take your antibiotic."

He smiled tiredly and his voice suddenly sounded much hoarser. "We're talking about me having demon blood and friggin' magical powers, and you're worried I haven't taken my medicine?"

She gave him a wry look. "Well, apparently you're human enough to succumb to a nasty cold. If you die in the car on the way to the farm, demon powers or no, Fern will kill me."

The corners of his mouth twitched. "Right."

It took him a minute to open the package and dry-swallow the antibiotic pill, and TJ's curiosity started to get the better of her by the time he was done. "So, what were you gonna say about when I was pregnant?"

He took another moment, like he was gathering his thoughts. "Because of my paralysis, the odds of me fathering a child are one in a billion. When you got pregnant, I was afraid that the demon blood was somehow coming into play."

"You mean, like, it supercharged your little swimmers?"

He gave her a half-smile that didn't hold much humor. "Uh, yeah. Something like that."

"But I thought you said the powers died when you killed Azazel."

"I said I _hoped_ they died. I didn't know for sure. Then, when you were pregnant, the twins kept thriving and you kept getting sicker. It was like the bigger they got, the weaker you got."

She frowned, her insides beginning to twist. "What are you saying, Sam?"

He shifted his shoulders, like he was uncomfortable. "I thought I'd passed the demon blood on to them and that your body couldn't handle it, that the demon blood in them was killing you."

She shivered, suddenly feeling drained of all her body heat.

"I don't think that now," he said quickly. "I mean, Robby and Sami Joy—the first time I ever held them, I _knew_ that wasn't the case, that there was no way they could have something evil inside them."

She was relieved by that, although a nasty voice in her subconscious said that he had no tangible evidence that was true, other than a father's love. But she'd held the twins too. They were little angels. She had begun to feel something maternal for them, and she wanted to believe him.

"So what about the demon blood?" she asked. "Do you still think it's in you?"

Again, he clenched his jaw and looked down. "It's been a very long time since I...uh...moved anything with my mind, and I haven't had any visions since Azazel died." He turned to her, hazel eyes penetrating. "Until last night."

She swallowed a big fat lump of trepidation. "What do you mean?"

"I don't think I had a nightmare. I think it was a vision. Before, when I got visions, they would cause splitting headaches, sometimes even migraines, and make my nose bleed."

She shook her head. "You've got a sinus infection, Sam. That's more likely what caused your headache and nosebleed last night, not to mention the fever."

"It was so vivid, TJ, so real."

"What did you see?"

His brow furrowed, and there was dread in his eyes. "Someone—or some_thing—_took the twins. Fern put them down for a nap, and when I went to check on them, they were gone—vanished."

TJ was so scared and rattled by that that she almost missed the turnoff to go to the farm and had to slam on the brakes. Sam braced his hands against the dash.

"Sorry," she said.

His mouth was in a tight line, but she knew the expression on his face had more to do with the memory of the nightmare or whatever it was than the fact that she'd almost given them both whiplash. She was shaken by what he'd told her and pulled over to the shoulder of the road in order to compose herself.

They were both quiet until TJ broke the silence. "So, if it was a vision that you had last night, then...do you think the twins are in some kind of danger?"

His gaze was intense and grim. "Yes."

She felt ill and didn't want to voice her other fear, was afraid to say it out loud. Because if it was a vision Sam had last night instead of a nightmare, what did that say about the demon blood, and what did it mean for him and the twins?

_**TBC**_


	23. Chapter 23

_**A/N: Guess what. I love my betas! Thank you Catsluver, skzb, and sallyloveslinus. I would be lost without you.  
**_

_**Thanks to the guests who reviewed the last chap. I really appreciate your comments. And thanks to all of you for continuing to read. You're my raison d'etre!  
**_

**Chapter 23**

It was a hot summer afternoon. TJ was sitting on a blanket in the backyard under a huge old oak tree that provided ample shade and kept the temperature bearable. She was playing with Robby, who'd woken from his nap early. Sami Joy was still asleep, and Sam was resting as per Fern's orders, still recovering from his cold.

Robby was lying on his tummy, wearing a royal-blue UK basketball T-shirt and soft denim shorts. His little chubby feet were bare, and TJ loved the way his tiny toes scrunched and released at intervals. She was delighted to see how strong he was getting at pushing himself up. It was good practice for crawling when he got older. Another minute or two passed, and he started to get tired of "tummy time," beginning to fuss. She picked him up, lifted his T-shirt, and blew a raspberry on his belly. He instantly went from fussy to sporting a big, dimpled smile.

She wished she had a baby picture of Sam so she could compare it to Robby. They would probably look almost identical. Robby was definitely Sam's son, except Robby's eyes promised to be lighter than Sam's.

She wondered what it was like for Sam to grow up in the hunting life. She had the feeling it couldn't have been very pleasant and mourned the loss of his childhood. How terrifying it would be for a little boy to know that the monsters under the bed or in the closet were real. It made her shudder to think that Sami Joy and Robby could be dragged into such a dismal world, and she felt a fierce surge of protectiveness. Were they safer with Sam or without him?

It was a few days after she'd had the disturbing talk with him in the car. She'd been avoiding having a real conversation with him since then because she'd needed time to think on everything. She thought about what he'd said about the twins being in danger and hugged Robby close to her, inhaling his sweet baby scent.

Sam, TJ, and her parents were still diligent about keeping the salt lines in place, and they'd fixed a bed for Rocket in the twins' nursery so he could sleep with them at night. It was uncanny how well-trained Rocket was, and when Sam told him it was time to keep watch over the twins, Rocket did it with an almost human-like diligence and intelligence.

Robby made a little noise of protest at being held so tightly, and TJ loosened her hold on him. Her back was to the tree, and she pulled up her knees, letting Robby rest against her thighs. His hands were wrapped around her thumbs, and she tugged. He instinctively resisted, causing himself to be lifted a little. It was like doing baby pull-ups. He loved it and gave her another gummy, dimply smile tinged with drool. She wished she'd remembered to put a bib on him and wondered when he and Sami Joy would start teething. There was so much she didn't know, but she found that she was looking forward to learning, that she wasn't as afraid of being a mother as she had been.

"TJ?"

She looked up to see Sam in his sleek, sporty black wheelchair on the back porch. He was at the top of the steps.

"You have Robby," he called. It was a statement, not a question, and he sounded relieved.

"Yeah." She lifted up the baby so Sam could see him. Robby kicked his legs in the air, and she laughed.

Sam swiveled his chair and coasted down the ramp to the yard, Rocket following behind. When Sam neared TJ, her heart did a little flip. He had a bit of stubble on his jaw that made him look more rugged, and he looked totally hot. He was wearing well-worn jeans and a light blue V-neck T-shirt that accentuated his muscular chest and biceps. Freaky evil demon blood or not, he was gorgeous.

"Is it okay if I join you?" His voice wasn't as hoarse from the cold, but it still sounded a bit huskier than normal.

"Oh. Sure." Actually, she wasn't sure whether she wanted him to join her or not, but she couldn't avoid him forever. And, frankly, she couldn't deny herself the pleasure of just looking at him.

He'd brought the receiver for the baby monitor with him, and he handed it to her before he transferred from his chair down to the blanket, scooting himself to where he was sitting next to her.

Rocket took advantage of being outdoors and was exploring the backyard. He was soon on the trail of something, trotting off with his tail in the air and his nose to the ground.

TJ scooted over a little so Sam could have part of the thick tree trunk to lean against, and the warmth of his shoulder touching hers sent a hum through her body.

"How was the nap?" she asked, trying to sound casual and not like her hormones were on overdrive.

"I didn't sleep that long. I had some work I was trying to catch up on."

"Hmm. Better not let Fern catch you working. She'll have your hide for not resting."

"I feel a lot better."

She eyed him, assessing whether he was telling the truth or not. His face wasn't flushed, he didn't sound as congested, and he seemed more energetic. Despite his obvious improvement, she was dubious when he reached toward Robby.

He raised his hands, palms outward. "I've been on the antibiotic for three and a half days and fever free for forty-eight hours."

She was still reluctant.

"I won't kiss him or anything."

"You won't breathe on him?"

He smirked with amusement. "I won't breathe on him."

She relented and handed Robby to him because she knew it had been several days since he'd been able to see the twins. As soon as he had Robby in his arms, his face lit up. He lifted Robby up in the air, and Robby kicked his legs with delight, grinning at his daddy in recognition.

TJ couldn't help but smile at the sweet picture they made. Sam was such a good dad, and it warmed her heart to watch the way he was with Robby. It made it all the more inconceivable to think that Sam might have demon blood in him—or that Robby and Sami Joy could have it too. The thought made her stomach clench, and the smile faded from her face.

"Where is everyone?" Sam asked, still focused on Robby.

"Mama is at the grocery store, and my dad is fixin' a fence somewhere."

Sam rested Robby on his lap and turned his attention to TJ. "So," he said with a tone that was a little too nonchalant, "aren't you supposed to be at work?" To his credit, there was no sarcasm or hostility in his voice, although there was a tick in his jaw that let her know it was an effort for him to remain neutral. "I thought you were planning to start on Monday."

She shrugged. "You got sick."

He looked away, squinting at the sun, despite the shade of the oak they were under.

"And...I've thought about what you said," she admitted, "about missing time with the twins."

His head snapped back to her and he searched her face.

She met his gaze. "Maybe I should hold off working for a while—at least until they're older."

He nodded. The taut line of his jaw belied a powerful, restrained emotion, and he glanced down at Robby as if to compose himself. This time, though, TJ knew it was a good emotion Sam was feeling—probably relief; maybe a little triumph?—and it made her want to smile.

Instead, she cleared her throat and changed the subject. "So, did you check on Sami Joy? She was still asleep?"

"Yeah. She should be waking up any minute. We should be able to hear her on the monitor."

"I changed Robby's diaper. It took me three tries, but I finally got it on straight. That was after he sprayed pee all over me and the wall."

Sam laughed, flashing white teeth and dimples. "I guess somebody should have warned you about that. You have to undo his diaper, hold it in place, and wait a minute to make sure you don't get the pee fountain. You have to watch out for it with Sami Joy, too, although, obviously, she doesn't have quite the spray factor that Robby does."

"Right," TJ said wryly.

He laughed again. "It's something about when the air first hits their bottoms that makes them want to go."

TJ drank him in, wanting to touch him. He was relaxed and happy when talking about the twins, and his laugh was even more attractive than his looks. She tore off a long blade of grass and idly fiddled with it, disconcerted by the way he made her feel.

For God's sake, Sam was her husband and the father of her children. If she could be attracted to him, maybe even fall in love with him again, that would be a good thing, wouldn't it?

She felt a cold pang of regret at what that might do to Jeremy. It was hard to let her ideal of him go, the fantasy of him that she'd dreamed about all her life. True, he'd hurt her, but it had happened six years ago. He was different now, and he'd been through a lot—the loss of his father, his mother's mental illness. He'd told TJ he wanted to make a life with her. It was what she'd always wanted him to say.

With Sam, there was the issue of the demon blood and his scary, dangerous past—and the fact that there was no guarantee he would ever be completely free of it. Had Other TJ accepted it all with no qualms? Had she been so in love with Sam that the fact that Lucifer himself wanted Sam in his freakin' army—not to mention that a demon almost killed her—was something she could overlook? Maybe Other TJ was able to accept it, but TJ wasn't so sure that she could, no matter how much her blazing hormones wanted her to.

Sam eyed the house, looking pensive. "When I went to check on the twins and Robby wasn't there..." He trailed off. "I was so relieved when I saw you had him."

She felt a ball of dread begin to grow in her stomach.

He looked at her, his brow creasing. "You've been avoiding me. You're freaked out about everything, aren't you? Not that I blame you."

She swallowed. "I—I don't want anything to happen to the twins," she hedged.

He reached over with his hand and grazed her jaw with his fingers. "Are you afraid of me?"

"Should I be?" The feel of his fingers on her skin was delectable, and she didn't dare move, afraid any movement might cause him to stop touching her.

His gaze darkened. "Yes. You should be afraid of me. People who love me end up getting hurt or dying, TJ. You almost did. I'm cursed. You should take the twins and run as far from me as you can get."

She hadn't expected him to say that and was shocked. The anguish in his words—the defeat and desolation in them—was stark and heartbreaking, all the more so because she knew what it must have cost him to say them. "You don't mean that."

He stopped caressing her face and let his hand drop, then looked away.

She wanted to comfort him, to deny what she knew might very well be true. If she were really honest with herself, what she wanted was to kiss him, this dangerous man with the bizarre and tragic past.

"Hey," she said quietly. Reaching over, she placed her palm on his cheek, urging him to turn to her. When he did, she locked eyes with him and slowly moved closer, her mouth on a direct trajectory toward his, her heart thudding in her chest.

In the next instant, Sami Joy began to stir on the monitor. The noise distracted TJ and she glanced away from Sam for a split second. With chagrin, she saw that Jeremy was topping the hill and walking toward them. Rocket was jumping up and down and wagging his tail at Jeremy's side.

TJ jerked back from Sam, feeling guilty, although she wasn't sure why—for almost cheating on Jeremy with her husband? She blew some stray strands of hair from her face with a puff of air and nearly groaned. Her life was so fucked up.

Sam frowned and turned his head to see what TJ was looking at. His lips tightened to a thin line when he spotted Jeremy.

She made a move to get up, but Sam grabbed her hand. "Don't," he said. Any trace of his earlier angst and uncertainty was gone. It was clear by the hard, unrelenting expression on his face that he was still in the game, that he didn't want her going to Jeremy.

"He won't disappear if I ignore him, Sam."

He didn't let go of her hand, just continued to stare at her.

She looked down at his grip on her. "Please. He's my friend."

Sam narrowed his eyes. "You know he wants more than that."

Sami Joy's little tinny grunts were getting stronger, more urgent. TJ glanced at the monitor. "Go see to her. I'll take Robby."

Sam's gaze traveled to Jeremy, his expression growing even stonier. Jeremy was almost to them, and TJ's gut twisted. She didn't want a confrontation between Sam and Jeremy.

Sami Joy made a noise on the monitor again, on the verge of a full-on cry, and Sam's features softened a fraction. He let go of TJ's hand, and she was glad that Sami Joy had inadvertently come to her rescue. TJ knew there was no way Sam would let the baby cry for long.

TJ scooped up Robby from Sam's lap and hurried over to Jeremy before he made it all the way to the blanket. Jeremy's mouth curled into a charming smile. She was glad to see him, although she'd been mooning over Sam—had almost _kissed _him—just moments before. Lord help her. She was becoming a regular Jezebel.

Jeremy opened his arms like he was going to hug her, but that was the last thing she wanted with Sam looking on. She turned her shoulder away from Jeremy and held Robby close to her chest, her body language leaving no doubt that Jeremy should keep his hug to himself. She could see Sam out of the corner of her eye and knew he was pissed. Jeremy, on the other hand, looked rebuffed and a little forlorn. He recovered quickly and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

"Hey, Nelly," he said softly.

She glanced down at Robby and kissed the tuft of dark hair on his head. "Hey."

"He's cute," said Jeremy, eyeing Robby. "I can see some of you in him."

"Thanks." She figured he was just being polite, but she couldn't help but feel a dash of pride.

Jeremy's attention suddenly focused behind her, and his eyes widened. TJ turned to see Sam doing his acrobatic move to get himself from the ground into his wheelchair.

"Wow," said Jeremy with grudging admiration.

Once Sam was situated in his chair, he looked over at TJ and Jeremy.

Jeremy nodded in a wary greeting. "Sam?"

Sam nodded curtly and then looked at TJ, his eyes speaking volumes, but he didn't say anything. He swiveled his chair around and headed toward the house, broad shoulders stiff.

Rocket sat for a moment, like he was torn between duty to his master and the lure of so many squirrels outside, but duty won out and he took off in a run until he caught up with Sam.

TJ turned back to Jeremy. "What are you doing here?"

He looked surprised at her abruptness. "Well, it's good to see you too, Nelly." His tone was laced with irony. "Does this warm welcome have something to do with Sam?"

She pursed her lips. "I think you know the answer to that. What do you want me to do, hug you and welcome you with open arms right in front of him? He sees you as a threat. He knows about our past, how I felt about you. It's shitty to rub it in."

Jeremy's mouth tightened with dismay. "How you _f__elt _about me? A few weeks ago, you didn't care what he thought. TJ, I know you're mad at me, but don't lose sight of what we have together—what we've always had and what we could have in the future. Our relationship is special. We belong together."

"I—I don't know if I'm comin' or goin' anymore, Jeremy."

He scowled, and his tone was accusatory. "You're starting to have feelings for him. I saw how you were looking at him. Were you gonna kiss him?"

She didn't want to answer that. "Why are you here, Jer?"

He ignored her question. "Sam doesn't look sick anymore to me. Why haven't you started work at the bank yet?" he prodded.

She looked down, feeling guilty, but then made herself meet Jeremy's disgruntled, steely gaze. "I've thought about it, and I think I'm needed more here to help with the twins."

His eyes widened. "You told me less than a week ago that you weren't ready to be a mother, that the thought of taking care of the twins was overwhelming."

"Things have changed. I've spent more time with them since Sam has been sick. It's not as scary as I thought, and I like being with them. They need me."

Jeremy made a noise of exasperation. "Well, how am I supposed to compete with that, Nelly?" He nodded toward Robby.

She rolled her eyes at his selfishness. "I'm their _mother_, Jeremy. It's time I started to act like it."

"Well, you didn't have such lofty principles six days ago!"

She tried to stay calm, although he was sorely trying her patience. "Jeremy, you realize you're upset because I'm doing the right thing?"

He ran a hand through his short hair, closing his eyes in frustration. Then he suddenly took her face in his hands, his gray eyes piercing and desperate. "I'm sorry. I want you to be a mother if that's what you want. But I don't want you to start having feelings for Sam. I want you for myself. You're all I have left, TJ. I can't lose you, too."

Her heart ached for him, for his loneliness, but she couldn't coddle him right now. "Look, all I want is to get to know the twins. I'm not gonna do anything—make any decisions—regarding you or Sam. I need time. But, in all the confusion, at least one thing has become clear. The twins need me, and I need them."

He ran his thumb gently over her cheekbone, a troubled, knowing look on his features. "If you change your mind about the bank, my offer will always be open. I'll always be here for you, Nelly."

"Thanks," she said softy.

He dropped his hands away from her face. "I came to invite you to a party."

She frowned. "A party?"

"Our birthday is in two days."

She snorted. "Don't remind me."

"My mother—" He stopped, sorrow crossing his features. He cleared his throat. "My mother has been better. She's been more lucid this last week. She wants to throw a joint birthday party for us."

Robby was getting heavy, so TJ switched him over to her other arm. He was staring at Jeremy. Jeremy offered his finger, and Robby automatically wrapped his little hand around it.

Jeremy raised his eyes to TJ, grinning in amazement. "He's strong."

"Yeah." She glanced toward the house, feeling uncomfortable. She hoped Sam wasn't looking out the window and got back to the subject at hand, hoping to move Jeremy along. "I can't do a party, Jeremy. My birthday is not somethin' I really feel like celebrating."

He tilted his head to one side, and his voice held a note of admonishment. "You shouldn't think that way, Nelly. There was a time not too long ago when no one was sure if you'd ever have another birthday."

"Don't try to guilt me into it. The answer is no."

"It's for my mom, TJ. She wants it to be like old times."

TJ and Jeremy had shared almost all their birthdays, usually combining parties or other activities when they were kids, since their parents were such good friends.

"It'll just be close friends and family," he promised. "Katrina said she would come."

It was tempting. TJ would love to see her old friend. She'd meant to meet up with Katrina after she got out of the hospital, but, with all the upheaval and trying to adjust to coming home, she hadn't done it yet.

"Please, TJ. Planning this party has given my mom something to look forward to, and it's helped her. Like I said, she's been more lucid lately. The excitement of it has made her happier than I've seen her in a long while. Please. She'll be crushed if you don't come. It's just for a couple of hours. You don't have to stay if it makes you uncomfortable. Just put in an appearance."

How could she say no if it would help Aunt Liv? She sighed with resignation. "All right."

He placed his hands on her shoulders and gave her a chaste kiss on her cheek. "Thanks, Nelly." He put a gentle hand on top of Robby's head and then turned to go.

She watched him walk away. Jeremy wasn't as muscular as Sam, but he had a nice build and a bold, confident gait. He was attractive, no doubt about it. She liked the way his Levi's hugged low on his hips and the way they accentuated his tight butt.

His kiss had been a sweet gesture that made her feel warm inside. It wasn't the fiery response she felt whenever she was with Sam, but it was familiar and safe. Life with Jeremy would be uncomplicated and normal. No worries about demon blood or contending with the devil. No freaky visions or mysterious powers. No dangerous past that might catch up with them, that might put her or the twins in jeopardy. To top it all off, even Sam himself had warned her away in a moment of self-doubt.

The choice seemed simple enough. Jeremy was what she'd always wanted, and now he was ready and willing. So what was her problem?

**XXXXXXXX**

"Mom, I already ate."

Ferna Sue gave her a narrow look. "When?"

"When you were talkin' to Aunt Liv." TJ was flat-out lying, and she hoped God wasn't about to strike her dead with a bolt of lightning.

"TJ, you're not gaining any weight. I'm gettin' worried about you. I think you should see a counselor. You've had a lot to adjust to. I think it might help to talk to someone."

TJ rolled her eyes. "I'm fine, Mama."

Fern was about to argue, but one of her friends from church came over and grabbed her by the elbow, dragging her away to talk to a group of people that had just arrived. Fern shot TJ a _we're gonna talk about this later_ look over her shoulder.

They were in Jeremy's backyard, and the joint birthday party was in full swing. It was early evening and surprisingly not as hot as TJ would have expected, since it was the last day of July. The many shade trees in the yard and the balmy breeze helped with the heat.

TJ looked toward her dad, making sure he and Aunt Tru still had the twins. She smiled when she saw them. Vern was holding Sami Joy and Aunt Tru was holding Robby. Both babies were wearing little one-piece romper outfits. They were facing outward, round diapered bottoms in the crooks of Vern's and Aunt Tru's arms, mini tennis shoes dangling from little bare legs. Sami Joy had on a pink crocheted floppy hat that Aunt Joyce had made for her, and Robby had on a blue-and-red-plaid bucket hat. The twins had stoic, pensive looks on their faces as they took in their surroundings and all the people who kept coming up to ooh and ah over them. Their serious expressions reminded TJ of Sam, and she was amused.

Once she was satisfied the babies were okay, she surveyed the rest of the crowd at the party and checked the time on her cell phone before stuffing it in her back jeans pocket. She'd only been there thirty minutes, although it seemed like ages. She was already tired of making small talk and hearing yet again about what a miracle it was that she was doing so well, but it would look bad if she left so soon.

She looked for Uncle Joe Mack. He'd been sitting under a shade tree, looking gaunt and sallow. She wanted to talk to him but hadn't had a chance, and now she couldn't see him. She was worried that he might have had to leave because he wasn't feeling well, but then she saw Aunt Joyce talking to a group of ladies and was relieved. Uncle Joe was probably around somewhere if Aunt Joyce was still there.

TJ's eye caught the large banner hanging above the wrap-around porch of Jeremy's house that read "Happy 25th birthday, TJ and Jeremy!" Her eyes welled with moisture, and she gritted her teeth and swallowed, trying to keep her emotions in check. She was twenty-five years old. She should be used to the idea by now, but it still bothered her. She grieved the life she couldn't remember, the birthdays that had come and gone. She even mourned Other TJ and wished she could get her back.

"You okay?" Sam had suddenly wheeled up beside her. He looked good, as usual, in a white shirt with faded gray designs on it. His long, dark-brown hair brushed the top of his collar, and the white cotton fabric of the button-down contrasted nicely with his tan skin. He was frowning up at her with concern.

She felt self-conscious about her height and scanned the area for a chair, but there wasn't one nearby. Pushing away her earlier bout of moroseness, she cleared her throat and composed herself. "I'm fine," she said in response to his question.

He searched her face, not looking convinced.

"How old are you, Sam?" she asked, changing the subject.

His brows went up. "That was kind of out of the blue."

She shrugged. "I guess I've got age and birthdays on the brain."

"Twenty-seven," he said, answering her question.

She managed a short laugh, but there was no humor in it.

His eyebrows drew together. "Why that reaction?"

"It's just that, when I first woke up in the hospital and saw you, you seemed so much older—like _way_ older—but you're only two years older than I am."

He didn't say anything. Instead, he idly perused the crowd.

She was surprised at his silence. "Aren't you gonna tell me how lucky I am to be here, that I ought to be grateful, that I should stop freakin' out about my age and quit wallowing in self-pity?"

"Sounds like you already know all that."

She crossed her arms, annoyed.

He was watching the twins. "You lied to your mom."

"What are you talking about?"

He looked at her then. The sunlight brightened his hazel eyes, highlighting greens, golds, and browns all mixed together, and his gaze held disappointment. "You told her you'd already eaten. You know that's not true."

How did he know that? She grew defensive. "I wasn't hungry, and she gets overly zealous when it comes to me eating. I was just trying to avoid an argument. And, anyway, it's none of your business."

He tilted his head slightly, his voice steady and even. "You'll always be my business, TJ. I'm always watching you."

She got a tingly shiver down her spine. There was something possessive about his statement that she should have found more unsettling than she did. "That's a little creepy-stalker-guyish." She was half teasing, half serious.

He ignored her comment and took her hand. With his other hand, he put his thumb and index finger around her wrist, easily encircling it with room to spare. His scrutiny of it made her uneasy. "TJ, you need to eat. You're too thin."

She tried to make him understand. "I like my body for the first time ever that I can remember, Sam. I'm finally in control. This is the weight I should be, that I've always wanted to be."

He shook his head. "I'm worried about you. You're not at a healthy weight."

"You sound like my mother." She tried to ease her hand out of his grasp, but he tightened his grip. His hand was warm and strong.

Eyes turning soulful, he said, "Your mother loves you and so do I."

Her pulse quickened at his words, but she kept her voice steady. "You and Mama are both overreacting." She paused for a beat and then spoke with a bit of defiance. "Jeremy doesn't have a problem with my weight."

Sam's features hardened to granite. "Jeremy only cares about himself."

"That's not true," she said softly. "You don't know him like I do."

He closed his eyes for a second, his body tense. "TJ—"

"Don't worry about me, Sam. I'll be fine." She looked away from him and saw that Katrina had arrived. Grateful for the diversion, she wriggled her hand from his hold. "Excuse me," she said to him and then walked toward her friend, feeling his eyes on her. Watching.

**XXXXXXXX**

Jeremy's buttery-smooth voice sang the last words of the song he'd written for TJ, and then he said tenderly, "I love you, Nelly," as he strummed the last strains on his guitar. The song was his birthday present to her, and everyone in the crowd at the party was silent for a few seconds after he stopped playing. It was awkward.

It wasn't that TJ didn't appreciate the song—a sweet reminiscence of their childhood together—but she didn't like the attention it sent her way, and she didn't like the dangerous glower that was on Sam's face. He clearly wasn't pleased. He was sitting at a table with a few other guys, skewering Jeremy with a brooding, murderous look.

She was sure most of the guests there knew that she was married to Sam. Most of them also knew her history with Jeremy, how he was like family, but it still wasn't appropriate for him to say that he loved her publicly—right in front of her husband—whether he meant it romantically or not.

She and Katrina were sitting at the end of a long table, and Jeremy was looking at TJ, his stare poignant. She glanced away, uncomfortable and embarrassed.

Finally, Liv, who was standing a few feet from Jeremy, clasped her hands together at her chest, a rapt expression on her face. "Oh, Jeremy," she said with a tremor in her voice, "that was just beautiful."

That seemed to spur everyone into clapping their appreciation—everyone except Sam.

"Mm-mm," Katrina hummed admiringly. She was eyeing Sam's table, where her latest conquest, a handsome, athletic black guy named Darius, was sitting next to Sam. Darius was a basketball player—a point guard—for the University of Kentucky and quite famous to anyone who was a fan.

Katrina was willowy and graceful as a cat and had a head full of short dreadlocks that were chic and cool. She took a drink of her tea, causing the muscles in her delicately-arched throat to contract. There was something kind of seductive about it, and TJ mused that only Katrina could make drinking iced tea seem sexy. Well, except for Sam.

"Darius seems nice," TJ commented. "Not bad to look at, either."

Katrina gave TJ a sidelong glance. "Yeah, but I wasn't lookin' at him just now. I was lookin' at that husband of yours."

"Sam?"

Katrina pursed her full lips and frowned comically. "You got another husband somewhere that I don't know about?" Her tone was sassy.

TJ let out a short, ironic laugh. "Not that I know of, but then again, Sam kind of came out of nowhere."

"You know, you used to e-mail me about him. You were crazy in love with him."

"So I've been told," TJ said glumly.

"You don't remember anything about him?"

"Nope. He's a complete stranger—or was at first. I've gotten to know him a little better in the last couple of weeks.

Katrina nodded. "I talked with him when I visited you while you were in the coma. He's a smart guy and very charming in an unassuming, nice-guy kind of way. I can see why you fell in love with him."

TJ was silent.

"He's very well-read. He's the first white boy I ever met that's heard of James David Corrothers." Katrina was getting her master's degree in English lit at UK, and she was clearly impressed by Sam's knowledge.

"Who's James David Corrothers?"

Katrina rolled her eyes. "Point made. He was a black activist and poet in the early 1900s. He was influential during that time period, but his work kind of fell into obscurity. Most people—especially white people—have never heard of him."

TJ poked her cheek with her tongue. "You know me. I don't discriminate. I haven't heard of most white poets, either."

Katrina laughed, and it was warm and kind of smoky-sounding. "I know. Don't ever change, my geeky mad scientist."

TJ's heart tightened in her chest. She wasn't a geeky scientist anymore. Her career was over before it had ever begun.

Her thoughts must have shown on her face because Katrina put a conciliatory hand on her arm. "I'm sorry, girl. What are you gonna do about school?"

"I don't know," TJ said woodenly, staring at a half-empty, red Solo cup of iced tea in front of her. "I don't even know where to start."

"Is there some kind of test you can take to see where you are, where you can measure how much you remember?"

"I don't know. I don't think universities run into too many people who've basically had their minds wiped clean of everything they've learned. There's not an SAT for amnesiacs that I know of."

"Well, why couldn't you just take the regular SAT again?"

TJ met Katrina's light-brown eyes. "I'm scared. I'm afraid of what the results will be. And, besides, what school will want to give me another scholarship? They'll probably look at how much money SDSU wasted on me and won't want to touch me with a ten-foot pole. And I'm _old._

Katrina raised her brows. "Who you callin' old? I'm the same age as you."

"Sorry."

"And some of us regular folks work our way through school and take out loans, those of us who aren't brainiacs lucky enough to get scholarships."

TJ sighed. "Yeah, but I'm already so in debt with hospital bills. Sam works his ass off to pay them, and it'll still take years to pay them all. I want to find a job at some point to help him, and I don't want to add school loans to the mix."

"So...what? You just gonna be the adoring housewife and soccer mom?"

TJ's laugh was bleak, and her eyes went to Sam. He was balancing on the back wheels of his chair and smiling at something Darius was saying. He seemed to sense her scrutiny and glanced her way, a hint of humor still in his expression, dimples visible. TJ's stomach did a flip and she averted her eyes.

"Sam's not bad to look at, either," Katrina observed.

"You think he's cute?"

The corners of Katrina's mouth went down and her eyes got big. "'Cute' ain't the word for him. That boy is _fine,_" she drawled out.

"You think?"

"You don't?" Katrina challenged.

TJ shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "The wheelchair doesn't freak you out?"

Katrina studied Sam. "The wheelchair doesn't bother me," answered Katrina. "It never bothered you either, except you told me once about the prejudice he sometimes runs into. I think that part bothered you more than it did him."

Ah, another insight into Other TJ's personality. TJ traced a line of condensation on the outside of her cup. "His disability kind of threw me for a loop at first," TJ admitted, "but the more I get to know him, the more it doesn't matter. Good Lord, Katrina, you should see what he can do. He's so strong and adapts so well. And he's an amazing father to the twins. I hope he gets to go back to law school someday. He'd make a great attorney. Like you said, he's really intelligent. Did you know he did most of his undergrad at Stanford and was attending law school at Berkeley before things got so screwed up? He won scholarships to both schools."

Katrina had a knowing smirk on her face.

TJ was dubious. "What?"

"Sounds to me like you're not totally indifferent to him after all. Maybe there's still hope. You never complained about your sex life with him either, by the way."

"I didn't?" TJ was burning with curiosity on the subject and couldn't hide a shy smile. "What did I say?"

Katrina let out a small laugh. "You didn't go into any details."

TJ deflated. "Oh."

"Girl, you were so in love with him." Katrina's eyes were earnest. "If you fell in love with him once, you can do it again."

"I'm not the same person."

"Yes, you are."

TJ didn't reply. She didn't want to have that conversation with Katrina.

"And Sam is the same guy you were head over heels for."

"If I love anyone, it's Jeremy," TJ said stubbornly, almost as if by rote. She looked at Jeremy, who was still playing his guitar and entertaining the small group of onlookers gathered around him. He had a lopsided smile on his face and his demeanor was so charismatic. His guitar looked like an extension of himself, and his fingers moved deftly over the taut strings. Music was a part of his soul, and it showed when he played it.

"You _loved_ Jeremy," Katrina said. "And when you _loved _him—past tense—and were all hot and bothered over him, he was off chasin' tail."

"He's not like that anymore. He's matured, and he's so lonely. I don't think he's chasin' skirts anymore. I think he's ready to settle down."

Katrina arched a brow. "With you?"

"Don't act so surprised," TJ said wryly. "He pretty much said so."

Katrina frowned. "Jeremy's a smooth talker, Nelly. You know that. Don't do anything hasty. Give Sam a chance. You owe it to your babies to try and get to know him. Don't break up their home unless you have no other choice." Katrina's tone was intense, and TJ knew it was because Katrina's parents had never gotten along. They split up when she was a baby, and their contentious relationship had sometimes made for a painful childhood.

TJ's eyes traveled to Sam, and thoughts of the demon blood and his strange past came unbidden. She got a sense of foreboding. "There's things you don't know about Sam, Katrina."

"Well, you may be right there, but Jeremy is a banker. You know what they say about bankers." Her tone implied it was obvious.

"What?"

Katrina gave her a sly, lewd look. "Once they take it out, you lose interest."

It took TJ a second to get it, and then she and Katrina both burst into laughter.

_**TBC**_


	24. Chapter 24

_**A/N: Thanks to skzb and Catsluver for beta'ing this chapter. You guys are the best!  
**_

**_Thanks to those of you who reviewed as guests. Just a reminder that I can't reply personally to guest reviews because I can't access them, but that doesn't mean your comments aren't very much appreciated!_  
**

**Chapter 24**

Aunt Joyce was sitting alone in a quaint, white gazebo set a little apart from Jeremy's house when TJ spotted her. It was later in the evening, and the birthday party was beginning to wind down. TJ joined her aunt, sitting beside her on a narrow, wooden bench.

"You okay, Aunt Joyce?"

Aunt Joyce turned to her with tear-filled green eyes that looked uncannily like TJ's mom's and drew in a deep breath, rubbing her hands on her thighs. When she was more composed, she gave TJ a fond smile tinged with sadness. "Yeah. I'm fine, sugar doll."

TJ peered in the direction Aunt Joyce had been looking a second earlier and saw Uncle Joe Mack laugh-wheezing with a group of older men from church. He looked very pale and thin, but he was still trying to keep up appearances, probably telling a silly joke, trying to spare those around him from feeling uncomfortable because of his illness.

TJ hugged her aunt, putting an arm around her shoulders.

Aunt Joyce patted TJ's hand. "You know, your Uncle Joe Mack has driven me crazy for thirty years. Lawsy, he could get under my skin worse than a mess of cockleburs and a rash of poison ivy combined. There's even times I thought about leaving him."

TJ was surprised and raised her brows. She knew her aunt and uncle bickered a lot, but she never in a million years would have believed things had gotten that tense between them.

Aunt Joyce chuckled at TJ's reaction. "It's true. There were times I had less-than-Christian thoughts about that man and could have wrung his neck. But you know what? If I'd left him, I would have come back. Sometimes people are just meant to be together. No matter what happens, you'll always end up finding each other in the end."

TJ sighed. She knew what Aunt Joyce was getting at. "Sam and I aren't you and Uncle Joe Mack."

"No. You two got more going for you than Joe Mack and me. We love each other, but sometimes love alone can't always make you happy. You and Sam not only loved each other, you respected one another's opinions—or you did before everything got all wee-wah. I never saw the two of you together, but I know what you had was special from what your mama and you yourself told me."

Aunt Joyce's eyes narrowed a bit. "Now, you listen to your wise old aunt, girl. That Sam knows how to treat a woman, and he loves you deeply. He stuck by you—spent hours by your bedside just reading and talking to you—when you were in the coma. Tru thought he hung the moon and bragged about him all the time. I think by the time it was all said and done, Sam knew more about comas and what was required for your care than the doctors did."

TJ was touched by that, but she wondered what Aunt Joyce would think if she knew Sam had nearly gotten Other TJ killed by a demon, not to mention all the additional freaky, scary things about his past and the demon blood. She repeated what she'd said to Katrina. "There's things about Sam you don't know."

"I'm sure that's true. Nobody's perfect," Aunt Joyce said sagely. She glanced wistfully at Uncle Joe Mack. "But I'm here to tell you that sometimes you don't appreciate what's right under your nose until it's gone."

**XXXXXXXX**

"I think it's time to take the twins home," said Sam, intercepting TJ as she headed to refill her plastic cup of tea for the sixth time.

She'd drunk so much sweet tea during the party, trying to make up for not eating, that she was wired from caffeine and would probably have to get up and pee a hundred times tonight. She glanced at her mother and Aunt Liv. Fern was holding Sami Joy, and Liv was holding Robby, who was getting fussy and squirmy. Aunt Liv shifted him up onto her shoulder and started patting his back. He was sucking on his fist, and, although he was quiet again for the moment, TJ knew it wouldn't last long. He was probably tired and hungry.

"Okay," she said to Sam. She set her cup on a nearby table and started to walk toward the babies, Sam pushing himself by her side.

As TJ approached, she called, "Hey, y'all. Are they getting fidgety?"

"Yeah," Fern drawled indulgently. "I think it's past their bedtime."

"Sam and I will take them home," said TJ. "You and Daddy can stay longer, if you want."

Fern smiled. "All right, hon. We'll stay and help Liv and Jeremy get things cleaned up."

Liv, her long black hair pulled up in an elegant bun, shot Fern a look of disapproval that seemed uncalled for and out of place.

Fern handed Sami Joy over to TJ, and TJ automatically kissed the baby on her head, feeling a surge of love. She was bonding more and more with the twins each day, now that she wasn't being so stubborn and rebellious. Every time she held one of them, she felt an intense rush that was sweet and beautiful and very necessary. In fact, she was starting to crave the feeling.

Sam was already rummaging in the backpack that always hung on the back of his chair and pulled out the black baby sling. He situated the two pieces of fabric on his shoulder and across his chest and then raised his gaze to Liv. TJ smiled expectantly at Liv, waiting for her to hand Robby to Sam.

Liv seemed to hug Robby closer to her, and he started to cry. "Oh, baby boy," she crooned. "It's okay. Shhh. It's okay." She swayed, and Robby settled a bit, but he was still fussy.

TJ got a bad feeling. "Aunt Liv," she said cautiously, "why don't you let Sam have Robby? He needs to be fed one more time and put to bed."

Aunt Liv's blue eyes traveled from TJ to Sam, and she frowned, looking bemused. "Who are you people? I've never seen you-all before. I'm not givin' you my baby." Her expression was almost horrified when she looked at Fern. "Why are you lettin' this strange girl take TJ?"

Fern's expression was one of dismay and sadness. She gently put a hand on Liv's shoulder. "Liv, hon, that baby is not TJ. _TJ_ is all grown up. She's the girl _holding_ the baby, and the baby is her daughter. The baby's name is Sami Joy." She indicated Robby. "You're holding TJ's son, Robby." Fern reached across and put a hand on Sam's shoulder, still eyeing Liv. "And this young man is TJ's husband, Sam."

Liv shook her head, and the expression on her face said she thought Fern was crazy. "Ferna Sue, what on earth are you talkin' about? TJ's just a baby. She can't be married. And this baby I'm holding is Jeremy. You know that. I don't know who the heck Robby is."

Sam looked uneasy, his brow furrowed. TJ searched the remaining crowd of party-goers for Jeremy. She saw him talking to Katrina and caught his eye, giving him a beseeching look and tilting her head toward Aunt Liv. He seemed to get the message. He gave Katrina a quick hug and a wave goodbye and headed toward TJ. Katrina had a sympathetic look on her face, and she mimed like she was talking on the telephone, signaling that TJ should call her later.

TJ nodded and waved as the tall, athletic Darius offered his arm to Katrina in a gentlemanly gesture and led her toward the cars.

When Jeremy was near, Liv spoke to him. "Ross, I don't know what's goin' on here. These people want to take Jeremy and TJ away, and Ferna Sue seems to be goin' along with them."

Jeremy stood next to Liv, not quite a head taller, and put his arm around her. He appeared to immediately grasp what was going on. "Mama," he said with gentle patience, "it's time to give the baby back to his parents."

Liv blinked in surprise. "Ross Suggs, I am not your mama, and you know it. Quit foolin' around. This isn't funny!"

Jeremy cast a look at TJ, features desolate. He swallowed and looked back to his mother. "Liv," he said with authority, sounding like his dad used to, "let's take the baby inside and talk about this." It was clear he was trying to avoid a scene in front of the people who were still lingering at the party.

Liv glowered at TJ and Sam, then huffed at Jeremy. "Not until you make these people leave our property!"

Robby started crying again, more urgent and angry. Liv was squeezing him to her chest, and the more he wiggled, the tighter she held him.

Sam's mouth was pressed into a thin line, his shoulders rigid. To his credit, he kept his cool, although TJ knew he was as on edge as she was.

"Liv," Fern said, trying to be reasonable, "maybe the baby is cranky because he needs his diaper changed. Let's take him inside and take care of that." She put her hand lightly on Liv's arm.

Liv shook her off and peered at Fern with contempt. "I'm not fallin' for that, Fern. I don't know what you're about. You may be willing to let strangers handle your baby, but they're not gettin' near my Jeremy."

At that point, Vern walked up. "What's goin' on here?" he said, a frown on his face and concern in his voice.

"Don't you get in on this, too, Vernon Nelek," Liv warned. "No one is gettin' near my son except me and Ross."

Vern's questioning eyes went to Jeremy.

Jeremy was pale, his voice hollow. "She's confused. She thinks Robby is me when I was a baby." He placed his hands on Liv's shoulders and turned her to where she was facing him. "Liv, listen to me," he said in his dad's authoritative tone, "I'm going to take the baby, okay? Give him to me. You know he'll be safe with me."

She stared at him and, for a moment, it appeared she might do what Jeremy said. She loosened her hold on Robby, but, at the last second, she hugged him to her chest again and took a step back, out of Jeremy's reach. "No. I heard what you said to Vern. You're goin' along with this chicanery. I don't understand any of this, but you-all are not gettin' my baby boy." She scanned them all with a fierce wariness.

Robby's face was red and livid, and he was struggling against Liv. TJ realized with horror that Liv was pressing his little head into her bosom, and TJ was afraid it was hard for him to breathe. She reached out a hand, palm up in a supplicating gesture. "Aunt Liv, please. You're suffocating him."

Liv took another step back. "Don't you try to trick me. I would never hurt my own son."

Jeremy's voice was full of anguish. "Mama, please," he begged.

Vern looked at Jeremy. "We're gonna have to force her to let go." His manner was ominous and apologetic at the same time.

TJ's heart was pounding. Sami Joy started to cry too, either picking up on Robby's distress or feeling the fear in TJ. TJ kissed the baby's cheek and began to sway, crooning softly into her ear.

Jeremy looked sickened that he and Vern would have to manhandle his mother but nodded. The two men approached Aunt Liv, and she looked terrified, her eyes searching around wildly for an escape.

"Wait," called Sam to Vern and Jeremy. His voice was unnervingly calm and sliced through the chaos and tension of the moment. Both Vern and Jeremy halted.

"Mrs. Suggs," said Sam above the din of the crying babies, "what color are Jeremy's eyes?"

Liv tilted her head and raised her brows, like the question had taken her off guard, considering the circumstances. "A—a light blue, really more of a gray. Very unusual for a baby." She tossed a reproving look at Jeremy. "Just like his daddy's."

"Right, Mrs. Suggs," Sam agreed politely, but there was intensity just under the surface of his placid demeanor. "Tell me, the baby you're holding—what color are its eyes?"

"I just told you. Light gray."

"Are you sure?" asked Sam. "Please. Just take a look. If you can prove his eyes are the same color as Jeremy's, we'll all leave you alone."

She hesitated.

"I promise." Sam's hands were in the air, nonthreatening, and his forehead was creased into a sincere, earnest expression.

TJ watched the scene with bated breath and was suddenly aware that tears were sliding down her own cheeks. She'd gotten Sami Joy to stop crying, but Robby's distress was heart-wrenching.

Liv gave a curt nod and pulled Robby away from her chest, holding him so she could see his face. Robby was wailing, his arms and legs stiff with fury.

Liv's delicate black brows knitted together.

"What color are the baby's eyes, Mrs. Suggs?" Sam prompted.

"I—I don't understand. Jeremy's eyes—this baby—his eyes are a darker blue." She looked up, and the utter confusion on her face was pathetic and tragic. "I don't understand how that could be."

They were all silent, and TJ again held her breath, hoping that Aunt Liv would finally comprehend. At last, Liv's eyes welled with tears, and she stared at Robby with a mixture of guilt and horror.

"Please, Mrs. Suggs," Sam said over Robby's crying, "can I have my son?"

She sobbed, her shoulders slumping and the fight going out of her. Fern approached her and reached for Robby, gently prying him from her arms. Bereft of the baby, Liv's arms fell limply, numbly, to her sides.

Fern jiggled and crooned to a still-livid Robby until she could hand him to Sam. Sam reached up and took him, immediately soothing and holding Robby in the "football" hold and shushing loudly in his ear like TJ had seen him do the day she came home from the hospital.

After a minute, Robby began to settle, his hysterical crying subsiding into hiccups and little sniffles.

"I'm sorry," said Aunt Liv, sounding breathless. She covered her mouth with a shaking hand. "I'm so sorry." Tears ran down her cheeks. She clearly realized that she'd been in the wrong but, at the same time, she looked scared, like she still wasn't sure exactly what was going on.

TJ didn't condone what Liv had done. She shuddered when she thought of how Liv had pressed Robby's face to her chest and nearly suffocated him, but the Aunt Liv that TJ knew never would have done such a thing if she'd been in her right mind. TJ could identify with feeling lost and confused and couldn't help but feel sorry for Jeremy's mom—this woman who had been like a second mother to her growing up.

Robby was calm now, his eyes glazing over on the verge of sleep, and Sam got him secured in the baby sling, wrapping him in the black fabric close to his chest.

Jeremy put his arm around his mother's shoulders. "You want a cup of chamomile tea, Mama?" he asked softly.

Liv swallowed convulsively and looked at Jeremy with uncertainty, like she still wasn't sure who he was. He kissed her on her temple, a son showing affection to his mother, and she nodded, seemingly resigned to her fate.

As they walked toward the back porch of the stately farmhouse, Jeremy glanced over his shoulder, his face a mixture of apology, sorrow, and even gratitude when his eyes rested briefly on Sam. Then he caught TJ's gaze and held it. The grief she saw in his gray eyes was stark and barren. She felt it settle like a cold stone in the pit of her stomach.

She looked around and saw that those who were left at the party had all stopped talking and watched the scene play out, and she knew things could have gotten really ugly if Sam hadn't talked Aunt Liv into giving up Robby. Jeremy and Vern would've had to forcefully hold Liv and wrest Robby from her arms. It would have shamed and traumatized everyone involved. Sam had been trying to save Robby, but he'd done more than that. He'd managed to salvage at least a small shred of Jeremy and Liv's dignity.

TJ thought of her own mom and felt sick at heart when she realized how hard it must be for Jeremy to see his vibrant, doting mother reduced to such embarrassing and—TJ hated to think it—dangerous behavior.

Both of TJ's parents' faces were etched with deep sadness. Vern had put his arm around Fern and her arms were wrapped around him, head buried in his chest, seeking solace. TJ felt bad for her mother. Fern and Liv had been close friends since before Jeremy and TJ were born.

"TJ?" Sam urged gently.

She glanced down at him, almost in a daze in the aftermath of everything. Robby had fallen asleep, content now that he was safe with his daddy, and TJ felt Sami Joy's little body relaxing on her shoulder and knew that she was about to join her brother in dreamland. Sam nodded toward each of the twins. "We really should get them to bed."

She nodded and followed him as he pushed his chair toward the driveway where her car was. She was profoundly relieved that Robby was okay and grateful to Sam for his quick thinking, but she was torn. She was worried about Jeremy. Here she was, abandoning him when she knew he was hurting and needed her.

After all, he'd promised to always be there for her. Shouldn't she be there for him?

**XXXXXXXX**

TJ was sitting in a rocking chair, cradling Sami Joy in one arm and feeding her a bottle. Robby, a more enthusiastic eater than his sister, had already scarfed down his bottle, and Sam was changing his diaper at a changing table that had been shortened so that he could reach it. He quickly and deftly got Robby diapered and dressed in a plain white cotton onesie.

TJ was impressed. Sam was a lot better at diapering and dressing the twins than she was, and she didn't have hands the size of baseball mitts. Of course, he'd had a lot of practice, since he'd virtually been a single dad—Fern's help notwithstanding.

When Sami Joy finished her bottle, TJ set it down on the middle shelf of the other, taller changing table in the room that she was sitting next to. She shifted Sami Joy up to her shoulder and began patting the baby's back, trying to pat firmly enough to make Sami Joy burp.

"Could you toss me a SleepSack?" asked Sam. He tilted his head toward the taller changing table and the stacks of diapers, SleepSacks, and onesies on its lower shelves, along with the requisite diaper essentials like Butt Paste and wet wipes.

Instead of tossing it to him, she stood, grabbed the blue blanket-like SleepSack, and took it over to him, still holding Sami Joy securely on her shoulder with one hand. "Here you go," she said, handing the garment to Sam.

He took it and absently set it in his lap, his focus on Robby. He was holding Robby's foot and staring at it, seemingly mesmerized by it. TJ wished she had a camera. It was such a moving thing to see, Robby's tiny foot in Sam's large hand—a moment in time that any professional photographer would be able to recognize and appreciate as a work of art.

Sam rubbed his thumb over the bottom of Robby's foot, and Robby wiggled his mini toes and kicked a little in response. Sam's mouth curved into a small smile, dimples surfacing. "It's beautiful, you know?" he said quietly. "The motion of the human body, the muscles and everything working together. It's amazing that, even in someone so small, it all works seamlessly." Along with the pride of a loving father, there was a wistfulness to his tone.

His manner was reflective as he continued to watch, still enthralled with the way Robby's legs and feet moved. TJ couldn't help but wonder if Sam was thinking about his own body—about his feet and legs that didn't move.

She pictured in her mind his body in action, the confident way he pushed himself in his chair, the efficient way he transferred to and from it, the incredible strength and grace in his movements when she saw him doing the yoga. Just the thought of his ripped upper body made her mouth go dry. "You—your body is beautiful too, Sam."

He looked at her for a long moment, searching her face. Then he looked away for a second, swallowing, and when he spoke, his voice was huskier than usual. "Thank you."

She gave a short, shy nod and shifted her gaze to Sami Joy, patting the baby and blushing furiously.

Once the twins were safe in their beds for the night, Sam asked TJ to join him on the back porch for a talk. She was wary, wondering if there was some other weird or scary thing about his life that he was about to spring on her or if they were going to argue again about Jeremy.

There was a set of worn white wicker furniture with padded, flowery-printed cushions on one end of the porch, and Sam transferred to the small loveseat. TJ kicked off the ballet flats she'd worn to the party and sat in a wicker rocking chair catty-corner to him. If they were going to talk about something important, she wanted to keep a clear mind and didn't want to be distracted by him. She knew that was a very real danger if she sat next to him.

Now that they were seated, his mouth was set and he was quiet, staring out into the backyard. There was a nightlight on a tall pole that stood sentinel over the yard, casting a blue glow. The porch itself was illuminated by a single light that burned near the kitchen door.

She sensed that whatever Sam had to say, he wasn't looking forward to saying it, and she didn't think she wanted to hear it. She rocked in the chair, pushing with her bare foot against the ottoman that sat in the middle of all the furniture, and waited...and waited...and waited. Finally, she grew impatient and decided to break the silence, hoping to distract him from whatever serious subject he was contemplating. "Thanks, you know, for being gentle with Jeremy's mom. The way you reasoned with her, it was a whole lot better than having to tackle her and wrench Robby from her arms."

Sam's forehead wrinkled in that pensive way he had. "I was afraid Robby might end up getting hurt in the fray—and Mrs. Suggs, too. It was worth the effort to try talking to her one more time."

He made a sobering point, and TJ felt a chill at the thought of Robby potentially getting hurt. She felt the need to steer the subject to something less unsettling. "You're really good with the twins."

"Thanks."

"Was it hard at first, learning how to take care of them?"

His mouth quirked, dimples flashing again. "God, yes, it was hard. I couldn't have done it without Fern. We had to be so careful with them, even had to turn away a lot of well-meaning visitors when we first got to Moss Fork to minimize germ exposure. We had to make sure everything was sterile because their immune systems were weaker than normal newborns, and we're still careful about that."

TJ felt a pang of guilt for suggesting they put the twins in daycare.

"Fern and I were so afraid of AOP. The twins never had much trouble with it in the NICU and it was pretty much resolved when we brought them home, but it was still my worst fear."

"AOP?"

"Apnea of prematurity. It's when they stop breathing while they're sleeping."

"Oh, my Lord," said TJ with alarm.

"The doctor told us after they were forty-four weeks old—age not adjusted—if they didn't trigger the alarm, we could take them off the monitor, but Fern and I both were so scared. We left them on the monitor for way longer than we needed to, but we eventually took them off of it right before you came home. Unfortunately," he added with concern, "now they're at the peak age for being at risk for SIDS—Sudden Infant Death Syndrome.

"We do everything that's recommended, like making sure there's nothing around them such as stuffed animals or soft bedding that could smother them. That's why we always put them on their backs to sleep; not that they'll be staying that way for long, since they're learning to roll over," he said wryly. "The SleepSacks are approved by a lot of child safety and SIDS prevention organizations. Still, there's no surefire way to predict SIDS. There's no monitor that detects it."

TJ felt a chill of unease.

"I know," he sympathized, apparently sensing her fear. "Fern says the anxiety never ends, that there will always be something to worry about with the twins, even after they're older. It's just part of parenting."

_Yeah_, TJ thought. _Like a demon coming to steal them._

"Then, there was the whole issue of feeding them," he went on, unaware of her dire thought. "When we first brought them home, they were on nasogastric feeding tubes, which, trust me, was a major hassle. It was difficult for them to learn how to suck from a bottle and it took them awhile. They finally got it down enough that we could take the tubes out a month or so before you came home."

He ran a hand absently through his long hair, distracted by his memories. "We had all the extra stuff to deal with because the twins were preemies, and then there was the normal stuff, too, like trying to get them to sleep on a schedule. I've never been so exhausted in my life, and I even had Fern to help. We would try to get Sami Joy and Robby to stay awake longer during the day, but they were both little night owls. Fern and I almost wept for joy the first night they both slept five hours in a row at the same time."

TJ was amused by the idea of hunky Sam weeping for joy like a girl, even though she knew he'd meant it figuratively. "Wow," she said. "Sounds like it was all really stressful." She hesitated a beat. "I think I'm glad I was in a coma."

He huffed a laugh, dimples at maximum depth. "Yeah. You got off easy."

She grinned. It felt good to be able to banter about things that were so serious. It took some of the pain out of it, made it have less impact.

They locked eyes with each other, and something passed between them, something that made her body hum with electricity. She looked down at her cuticles, trying to ward off a blush. "So, um," she cleared her throat, "what did you want to talk to me about?"

He didn't answer, and after a minute, she looked up at him quizzically.

He shifted his shoulders like he was uncomfortable. "I think we should wait for your parents to get home."

"Why?"

He drew in a slow breath through his teeth. "It's something we all need to talk about together."

She was wary. "Just tell me."

Rocket, who'd been roaming around the backyard, began to bark in the distance, and TJ could hear the crackle of tires on gravel.

Sam looked relieved. "That's probably your parents driving up right now."

TJ got a sinking feeling in her stomach. Whatever this was about, there was no doubt she wasn't going to like it.

Her dad pulled all the way up into the driveway, parking the Tahoe near the back porch. Hardly anyone ever used the front door of the house and always went in by way of the kitchen, unless they had visitors. Her parents walked up the steps to the back porch, both looking tired.

"Did y'all get things cleaned up?" asked TJ. "How are Jeremy and Aunt Liv?"

Fern shook her head. "She was still confused when we left. She's not understanding that Jeremy is her grown son, and she's upset. She's back to thinking someone took her baby."

TJ took a deep breath and exhaled, feeling an ache for Jeremy.

Fern joined Sam on the loveseat, and Vern sank down into another wicker chair across the ottoman from TJ.

"Liv's gettin' hostile toward Jeremy," said Vern. "She thinks he's Ross and that he's not doing anything to help her find the baby. I think he finally had to give her a sedative. He's hoping a good night's sleep will lessen her confusion in the morning."

TJ nodded.

Everyone was quiet and thoughtful for a moment, but then the silence stretched out for too long. There was obviously a big elephant hovering over them that everyone could see except TJ. She was starting to feel tired and made a big show of yawning, hoping to put off whatever somber topic her parents and Sam had in store for her. "I'm beat. I'm gonna get ready for bed." She started to get up from her chair.

Sam and her parents all shared a look, and then Fern spoke. "Just a minute, hon. There's something we need to talk about."

TJ plopped down in her chair with a sigh. "Can't we do this tomorrow?"

Vern had his serious face on and gave her a measured look. "I think we should just get this over with."

TJ's eyes traveled over each one of them, and she was getting more and more apprehensive.

"We're worried that you're not eating enough, hon," said Fern.

TJ rolled her eyes and almost smiled with relief that it was something relatively normal—something other than demons and visions. "Mama, I eat plenty."

Again, Sam, Fern, and Vern shared a look, and TJ started to feel a bit defensive, like she was outnumbered.

Sam spoke next, his voice even and rational. "TJ, in some ways, because of the memory loss, it's like you were frozen in time, and the rest of us moved on. It's like we have a crystal ball, and we can see by your actions now what you will do in the future. We can predict what's going to happen."

She didn't say anything, but her mind began to race, began to look for words to convince them she was fine.

"Your parents and I, we know what to watch for now. We didn't before." He was leaning toward her, elbows on his knees and hands clasped loosely in front of him. When she didn't comment, he continued, his eyes narrowed in concern. "We know the signs, Teej, and we're really worried about you."

"You're blowing this way out of proportion." She had to make them understand it wasn't like that. They were wrong.

Sam went on, unfazed. "We've noticed the way you go for days without eating much, how you push your food around on your plate to make it look like you ate more than you did." His tone grew gentle. "I heard you lie to Fern, and I know all you did at the party was drink tea."

_How dare he rat her out in front of her mom! _She felt herself heat with mortification and sat like a bump on a log, wishing the porch would open up and swallow her. She felt like a cornered rabbit.

"We were all watching you," said Vern. "None of us ever saw you eat. You never even got a plate."

TJ's throat narrowed and she felt the sting of tears behind her eyes. She forced herself to swallow and raised her chin. "So what if I never ate? It's not a big deal. I had a big lunch earlier in the day."

She was met with an accusing silence, and it made her angry. Had they watched every move she'd made—treating her like a child again? "I know what I'm doing," she asserted. "I know about the bulimia, and I won't let it happen again. I'm in control."

Sam sat back against the sofa. "That's part of what it's about—control. Not eating makes you feel empowered and successful, but it never ends, TJ. You'll never be thin enough. It'll never be enough. It'll always be just a few more pounds that you want to lose, and you'll never stop."

She scoffed, trying to hide how deeply shaken she was. "I'm just watching what I eat, Sam. That's all it is. People do it all the time. It's the American way," she said cynically.

"You're too thin, hon," said Fern. "You haven't regained any of the weight you lost from being in the hospital. You're not rebuilding any muscle, even though you've been doing your PT."

"It hasn't even been that long since I came home! You don't know what you're talkin' about."

"We do," Vern insisted solemnly. "We know what you look like when you're at a healthy weight," he looked her up and down, "and this ain't it. You should've gained at least a little bit of it back. Instead, if anything, you look thinner."

She knew what she looked like. No one would look at her now and say, _"Oh, TJ, you're just full-figured,"_ which really meant, _"You can't help it if you're built like a linebacker."_

She was thin for the first time in her life—that she remembered. She wouldn't go beyond where she was now. She would stop losing and show Sam and her parents that she was fine. It wouldn't be like before with the bulimia. But she damn sure wasn't going to start gaining weight, either.

"Daddy, give me a little credit. You think I'm dumb enough to go down that path again? I know about the eating disorder. I won't let it happen."

Vern's mouth was tight and he didn't look convinced.

Fern's manner was cautious. "Hon, we don't think you're dumb. It doesn't have anything to do with how smart you are. It's all about perceptions—how you perceive your body—and those perceptions can get skewed."

"So...what?" TJ said, her tone acerbic. "You want me to go in the kitchen and eat something right now? Will that satisfy you? Will that prove to you that there's nothing wrong with me?"

Again, she was met with tight expressions.

"And if I do eat, then what? Will you think that I pigged out? Will you put a guard on me twenty-four/seven to make sure I don't go barf it back up like I'm a mental case?"

Sam's voice was quiet. "No one thinks you're a mental case, TJ. We just want you to see a counselor. That's all. We just want you to have someone to talk to."

She looked up to the gray beadboard ceiling that covered the porch, frustrated and furious, and then laughed bitterly. "I feel like I'm being convicted of a crime I didn't commit." She pierced them all with a defiant look. "I eat. And, yeah, maybe I've even binged once or twice, but it's nothing out of the ordinary. I've _never_ made myself throw up. Do you hear me?"

Vern spoke. "We're not saying you have, but we've been down this road before, girl. We know what can happen."

"Please, Teej," said Sam. "Put yourself in our shoes. We watched you struggle with the bulimia before. We watched you almost _die_ because of it. We're afraid for you."

She crossed her arms and shook her head in disbelief. They were so overreacting. "I don't need a shrink. I'm fine, so just leave me alone."

"It doesn't just have to be about the eating disorder, hon," said Fern. "You could talk to a counselor about the memory loss and maybe learn to deal with it better. A counselor could help you adjust to all the changes you woke up to."

TJ was scornful. "Right. And what am I supposed to say about my husband who used to fight ghosts and demons? You think a shrink can help me deal with that!"

Sam's nostrils flared and he looked away. She'd struck a low blow, but they all knew it was the truth. The air was permeated with a long, heavy silence. Obviously, there were some things she would never be able to confide to a professional.

Finally, Vern spoke, his voice weary. "We ain't the villains here, TJ. We're doin' this because we love you."

She was adamant. "No. I don't want to go. I don't need counseling." Why couldn't they understand?

"Well," said Vern, his tone taking on a mixture of resolve and fatherly authority, "you ain't got much choice in the matter. We made you an appointment with a psychologist in Lexington that specializes in eating disorders. You're goin' next Wednesday."

"When Hell freezes over," TJ said with attitude. As soon as she said the words, she was slammed with a feeling of déjà vu, like she'd had this conversation before, and it made her feel queasy. Her heart started to race.

Vern was getting angry, unaware of what was going on inside TJ's head, and his blue eyes were bright and penetrating. "Well, long about Wednesday, there's gonna be the biggest ice storm in Hell you ever saw."

"TJ?" Sam was peering at her in concern, but there was an alertness to his gaze, like he was trying to read her. He glanced at Vern and held up a hand to stop Vern from saying anything more and then focused back on TJ. "Are you okay?"

She stared at him. "I..." She licked her lips. "Did we...have we...?"

He nodded. "We had a similar argument like this before. Right before, uh—" He stopped abruptly and frowned, looking guilty. "I wanted you to see a doctor. You refused, and I said some things that upset you. Soon after, you binged and then...purged. It was when you ruptured your esophagus. Did you—do you remember?"

She was horrified. She didn't remember the argument, but she sensed the hurt feelings like they were ingrained in her, and she was overwhelmed with shame that she'd been so self-destructive. "I...no, I don't remember. I..." She didn't know how to describe what she felt. It wasn't a memory, just strong feelings, sort of like imprints.

Sam glanced at Vern and Fern meaningfully and then focused back on TJ. "We can see history repeating itself here, TJ," he explained. "I should have—if I'd convinced you to see a doctor sooner the first time, maybe you wouldn't have ended up in the hospital."

Fern gave a self-deprecating huff. "Or maybe if I'd recognized the signs of an eating disorder before you ever went off to college, I could have gotten you help way before things escalated. I should have seen it. I was your mother."

"Go see the counselor for us, TJ, for our peace of mind," Vern implored. "Maybe you're right. Maybe you've got things under control and we're worried for nothin', but we'd feel better if a doctor told us that."

The shame she'd felt just a moment ago gave way to anger—anger that they were so sure they knew what was best for her, anger that they had so little faith in her. "So I'm guilty until proven innocent?"

Jaw squaring, Sam let out a breath, then let his head fall back against the Pepto-pink, clapboard wall of the house behind him, like he was frustrated that TJ wasn't listening.

Well, screw him. Screw them all. _They_ were the ones that weren't listening. "I don't need to see a counselor. I'll start eating more if it'll make you feel better. I just haven't had much of an appetite since I got out of the hospital. A shrink is overkill and an expense that's not necessary. It's just one more bill to add to the pile."

Sam's head came up, and he, Vern, and Fern all shook their heads and started to speak at the same time.

"Don't worry—"

"That's not an issue—"

"Oh, hon—"

They stopped, and Vern spoke. "Don't you worry none about how much it costs. We'll get you the help you need."

"No! I don't _need_ any help!"

Vern pursed his mouth. "It ain't up for debate. We're tryin' to be respectful of your feelings here, but if you won't listen to reason..."

TJ felt herself tense. "You'll what, Daddy?"

"Vern..." Sam cautioned.

Vern trudged on, heedless of Sam's warning. "I guess we'll strap you on top of the Tahoe like a piece of luggage. One way or another, we'll get you to that damn doctor!"

TJ stood, indignant, fists clenched and hot, righteous resentment coursing through her. "I'm done with this conversation. I'm a grown woman, and no one can force me to see a shrink. I like my body for the first time in my life. I don't feel like a fuckin' Amazon anymore, and I'm not gonna let you three or some damn stranger in Lexington ruin that for me."

Fern looked stricken; Vern looked fierce; and Sam had that soulful, worried expression on his face that might have made TJ melt in other circumstances, but this sure as hell wasn't one of them.

She shoved her feet into her flats, walked over and reached inside the kitchen door to get her car keys hanging on a peg, and stalked down Sam's ramp toward her car in the driveway.

She could hear a commotion of voices from the porch and knew her dad was about to come after her. But it wasn't her dad's voice she heard behind her as she walked. It was Sam's deep rumble.

"TJ?"

She froze for a second and then turned. He was in his chair, coasting quickly and gracefully down the ramp, a black, shadowy figure in the glow of the nightlight. When he got to the bottom, he stopped a foot away from her and looked up, his expression unreadable, his eyes dark and intense. "Where are you going?" he asked quietly.

"Where do you think?"

"Don't leave, TJ. We can talk through this."

She was still sorely pissed off. "I'm done talking in circles. I can't talk to you or my parents. You won't listen."

"And Jeremy will?"

"Yes," she said with certainty.

He glanced away, but not before she saw the anger on his face that cracked his stoic mask. "Don't go to him." His voice was lethally calm.

"_Jeremy_ will treat me like an adult and respect my opinion." She turned her back to him and started again toward her car.

Sam's voice cut through the summer night. "In order to be treated like an adult, TJ, you have to act like one."

His words were unfair and hit her like a slap in the face. Incensed, she clenched her fists and felt her keys dig into her palm. "Go to hell," she said darkly, not daring to look back. She would die before she let him see the treacherous, childish tears that were spilling down her cheeks.

_**TBC**_


	25. Chapter 25

**_A/N: Thanks to Catsluver, who keeps siphoning every ounce of emotion out of me that she can get (and sometimes adds it in herself), and skzb, who keeps me in line and reins in my comma usage (although not as much as she'd like). Also, thanks to Cartersdaughter, who has bravely joined my beta ranks with her help on this chapter._  
**

**_Thanks to those who review as guests. Your kind comments keep me going. Love to everyone who continues to support me by reading and reviewing. Without further ado, here's some Sammy!  
_**

**Chapter 25**

Sam was getting drunk. Screw his fucking schedule. Screw the bad effects the whiskey could have on his body. Screw the hideous hangover he would wake up with tomorrow morning. He just wanted to get fucked up, to forget.

He didn't want to think about TJ being in Jeremy's arms right now, of her crying on Jeremy's shoulder. It made Sam burn with rage to think about it, and it _hurt_. But what was he supposed to do? Go over there and cause a scene? Get out his Taurus and put a bullet in Jeremy's ass, then drag TJ out by her hair like a deranged, paraplegic caveman?

She'd made it clear who she wanted to be with, and it wasn't him. She wanted someone who respected her opinion. He wondered cynically how much talking she was doing right now with Jeremy, how much Jeremy was respecting her _opinion_. The thought of the smug smile on Jeremy's face when TJ had shown up on his doorstep—the satisfaction Jeremy must have felt knowing Sam's wife had come to him for comfort—filled Sam with disgust.

He picked up the heavy crystal lowball glass he'd found in Vern's liquor cabinet and had the strong urge to throw it against the back porch railing and watch it smash to pieces. It would be a fitting metaphor for the shape his heart was in. Instead, he poured himself two fingers of Jack and downed it like a shot, feeling the amber liquid burn as it slid down his throat. This was his third shot. He poured another one, using the wicker ottoman in front of him as a coffee table.

Rocket lay next to Sam on the wicker loveseat, giving him an admonishing look with his woeful, pale-blue eyes.

"What are you looking at?" Sam asked defensively, scratching Rocket between the ears. "Someday you'll understand. You'll find a girl you love more than anything in the world, and she'll have a stroke and wake up in love with some other guy. Then you'll know how it feels to have your heart ripped out. But don't worry, I'll be here waiting for you with a doggy bowl full of whiskey—and _I_ won't judge you."

Rocket let out a snort and put his head on his paws.

Fern had talked an angry Vern into going to bed not long after TJ stormed off, convincing him that going after TJ half cocked would only make matters worse, that things would look better in the morning after they'd all cooled off. Fern had reasoned that TJ would be safe at Jeremy's. Yeah, right. If sleeping in a crocodile's lair could be considered safe.

Knowing there was no way in hell he'd be able to sleep anytime soon, Sam had raided Vern's liquor cabinet and found his old friend Jack Daniel's in it. Now he was sitting on the loveseat on the back porch, getting a good start on drowning his sorrows. He shot the fourth glass of whiskey, noticing the burn didn't seem quite as bad as it made its way down to his stomach, and poured another.

He'd been making progress with TJ. She was beginning to bond with the twins, and he could feel she was thawing toward him. They were becoming friends, and there was no denying the physical attraction between them. He could feel her responding to him, and it had been good to see glimpses of the old TJ. And when he'd been sick, she was attentive and understanding. She'd cared. He'd started to hope again, to remember what it felt like to kiss her and hold her.

Then he'd had to tell her about the demon blood and the visions and all the crap from his fucked up past. It made him ache, the way she'd retreated from him. She hadn't run screaming in the other direction, but she was definitely wary of him.

It was like trying to catch raindrops with her. He would almost have her in the palm of his hand, but then any tenuous connection he had with her would slip through his fingers.

And now there was all the drama with the bulimia. TJ was so thin. Vern was right. She'd lost more weight since she'd come home instead of gaining. Sam and her parents could see so clearly the path she was on. It was like seeing someone about to be hit by a car but not being fast enough to push them out of the way.

Sam's blood ran cold at the thought of what could happen, how destructive the eating disorder could be. The image of her limp, pale body when he and Bobby had found her in her apartment, dying from the esophageal rupture, was seared into his retinas.

He downed his fifth shot of whiskey. The burn no longer burned at all. It was a soothing warmth that started in his gullet and spread throughout his body. He was well on his way to rip-roaring drunk. "Stubborn woman," he muttered, as he poured yet another shot.

"Let me guess. You must be referrin' to my charming and illustrious amnesiac daughter that we all know and love."

Sam looked up to see Vern standing in front of him. There was a wry smirk on Vern's face, and he was holding a flat-looking bottle of amber liquid and a tumbler of his own.

Sam snorted. "I thought you were asleep."

Vern shook his head. "I couldn't sleep. I was still too pissed off. Plus, Ferna Sue's snoring kept me awake. Sometimes it sounds like the _Texas Chainsaw Massacre_ in there."

Sam laughed, despite his morose mood.

Vern eyed Sam's glass. "What you got there?"

"I, uh, raided your liquor cabinet," Sam said sheepishly. His tongue felt thick. "Sorry," he added.

Vern raised his brows. "For what?" He waved an arm in a facetiously grand gesture that encompassed the Pepto-pink house, the backyard, and everything beyond it. "Son," he said in a magnanimous tone, "someday, all this will be yours—even the liquor cabinet."

"Right," said Sam glumly. "As long as TJ doesn't divorce me first."

Vern grabbed Sam's tumbler and emptied its contents over the porch railing.

"What did you do that for?" Sam bristled, frowning. "I was gonna drink that."

"You ain't drinkin' that swill in my house." Vern sat in the chair kitty-corner from Sam, unscrewed the cap of the flat bottle, and filled Sam's and his glasses halfway. "Drinking Tennessee whiskey in Kentucky is sacrilege. When in Kentucky, you must drink bourbon."

Sam frowned again. "I thought Jack Daniel's was a bourbon."

Vern rolled his eyes. "Hell, no. You got a lot to learn, boy."

"But aren't they made by the same process?"

Vern scoffed. "Some might argue that."

"Then what's the difference?"

"Well, mainly, Jack Daniel's ain't made in Kentucky."

That said it all. "Oh," said Sam, holding in his amusement.

Vern was serious, the teacher to the student. "Even them nudnicks in Tennessee admit it ain't a bourbon." He picked up the bottle of Jack, a look of distaste on his face. "See? It says right here on the bottle. 'Jack Daniel's Tennessee Sour Mash _Whiskey_.' It's not a bourbon."

"Right. So, why was it in your liquor cabinet?"

"My old roommate from college sent it to me as a joke. I kept it in case I had to entertain someone I didn't like someday." Vern raised his lowball and looked lovingly at the amber contents. "Now, this here is a _bourbon_. Woodford Reserve. It's a thing of beauty. You should only bring this out when it's really needed, when it's gonna really be appreciated. That's why they call it a _reserve_." He took a sip, closing his eyes and savoring the taste. "Mm-mm. Sassy and complex like a good woman." He eyed Sam's glass. "I should make you cleanse your palate of that Tennessee sludge before I let you grace your lips with my bourbon—"

"Cleanse my palate?" said Sam, raising his brows.

"—but I realize that sometimes the need to get drunk quick takes precedence over propriety." Vern waved his glass at Sam's, indicating Sam should drink. "Bottoms up."

Sam made a toasting motion with his glass and took a sip, this time taking it slow, actually letting himself taste it. Vern was right. The Woodford was smooth and spicy, but it didn't have so much bite that it was unpleasant. It was a damn fine bourbon.

They sat in silence for a moment, sipping their drinks. Sam was already buzzing hard from the four? five? six? shots of Jack, and the Woodford was potent. He felt warm, like he was glowing all over, and the stark pain and anger he felt over TJ running to Jeremy had lessened to a more tolerable ache.

"So, what's all this talk about TJ divorcing you?" questioned Vern, breaking the silence.

Sam gave a little shrug. "All the stuff about the hunting, my visions, the demon blood—I know it's freaked her out." He ran a hand through his hair. "Jesus, who wouldn't be freaked out by it? Still, I think we could get past it, but every time I think I'm making progress with her, Jeremy weasels his way back into the picture. He confuses her." Sam narrowed his eyes. "He's taking advantage of her."

Vern let out a long sigh. "Yeah. I know Jeremy ain't helping things. I'm not defending him, but he's always been like a son to us. Our families were always close. There was a time we all assumed—well, you know. When TJ and Jeremy were little, they were thick as thieves. I think Fern and Liv always kind of hoped..." He trailed off with an apologetic shrug.

"That they'd get together," Sam finished.

"Yep. I think TJ had hopes of dating him when they were in high school, but Jeremy was a wild buck that wasn't ready to be tamed."

Sam had the vindictive thought that if he told Vern the whole of it—that Jeremy had taken TJ's virginity—his problem would be solved. Vern would kill Jeremy. But Sam didn't think that would help his relationship with TJ. In fact, it would probably drive her further away. She'd told him everything about Jeremy because she trusted him, because they told each other things they would never tell anyone else, and Sam would never betray her confidence. Instead, he said, "Jeremy wants her now, and the fact that she's my wife is irrelevant to him."

Vern shook his head with disapproval. "Well, if that's true, it ain't right. Jeremy was a spoiled kid, and he's used to getting his way. He wasn't a mama's boy exactly—Ross, his daddy, made sure that didn't happen—but he was indulged. It's kindly hard not to spoil them at least a little, especially when they're the only one you got." Vern's tone held a note of ruefulness, like he spoke from experience.

"I have to give Jeremy credit, though," Vern continued grudgingly. "I thought he was kind of flaky, the way he was all into his music and that long hair he used to have." Vern's eyes slid pointedly to Sam's long hair, a teasing twitch to his mouth.

Sam smirked and took a long sip of his bourbon.

"He even majored in music at Kentucky," Vern went on. "I didn't see how that was a very practical route to go. Ross didn't either, but he let Jeremy do it anyway." Vern took a drink of his bourbon. "But when Ross got killed suddenly, Jeremy stepped up to the plate. He took it like a man and did what was right, especially when it became clear that Ross's death unhinged Liv. Jeremy's learning the ropes at the bank and taking care of his mother, doing the best he can, I suppose."

Sam was unmoved by Jeremy's sob story. "He's made it clear he's not gonna back off from TJ."

Vern harumphed. "I'm not worried. You just keep doin' what you're doin'. You know how to handle TJ, and you've got the patience to do so. You can talk to her better than anyone I've ever seen. I made things worse tonight, and I'm sorry. I shouldn't have forced her about seeing the shrink. I pushed her to run to Jeremy, not you."

Sam leaned his head against the siding of the house, thinking of his last words to TJ about acting like an adult. "I'm no better at talking to her than anyone else. I said some things tonight that ticked her off, too. Who could blame her for running to Jeremy?" he brooded. His tongue wasn't cooperating, and he had to try harder to enunciate. "He's got everything going for him. He's good-looking—if you like the douchey Ryan Gosling look—and he's rich. He owns a friggin' bank," Sam said scornfully. "He's got a long history with TJ. He's got two legs that work."

"Plus," Vern commiserated, "there ain't no chance he's got any demon blood in him."

Sam laughed morosely. "Right. No demon blood. Just jackass blood."

Vern chuckled.

Sam sucked down the rest of the bourbon in his glass and held it out for a refill. Vern obliged.

"Thanks for the pep talk, Vern," Sam slurred. "I feel so much better now."

Vern nodded. "Anytime you're feelin' sorry for yourself, I'm always here to make it worse."

Sam snickered drunkenly.

"Yep. The way I see it," said Vern, "Jeremy's got everything goin' for him except for one thing."

"What's that?"

"He aint' you."

"Huh?"

"Aw, hell, Sam. Don't sell yourself short. TJ can't keep her eyes off of you. She was watchin' you like a hawk all evening at the birthday party. You're smart, you're a good guy, and I've seen her mesmerized sometimes when she watches you with the twins. She loves you. She just don't know it yet."

Sam exhaled an inebriated breath.

"Hoo-wee. You smell like a distillery."

"Sorry."

Vern rolled his eyes comically. "No need to apologize."

Sam reflected on what Vern had said about TJ, but he had a hard time believing she could possibly love him since she was probably in Jeremy's arms at that very moment. What if she was in Jeremy's bed? The thought made Sam want to throw up.

"You're not lookin' so hot, kid."

"I'm a light"—Sam hiccup-burped—"weight."

"Well, a half a fifth of bourbon and that Jack Daniel's swill will do that to ya, even if you ain't a lightweight," said Vern, eyeing the almost empty bottle of Woodford.

"Huh." Sam blinked, focusing on the flat bottle. How had the bourbon disappeared so fast? One minute it was there. The next, it wasn't.

"I think we both better git to bed," Vern said ominously. "We're gonna pay for this tomorrow."

Sam nodded and scooted himself forward on the loveseat so he could transfer to his chair. Just that small movement made the room tilt and roll. "Whoa."

"You all right?"

"Uh, I think it's a good thing I can't stand up."

Vern wheezed out a laugh and clapped Sam on the back. "Come on. I'll help you get in your chair."

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "No drinking and transferring. It's bad." He was remembering when he fell and hurt his shoulder. He'd been mixing his pain and antispasticity meds with whiskey and fell trying to get into his chair from the shower. Of course, Yellow Eyes had made the injury much worse by lifting Sam several feet in the air and then dropping him on his already-damaged shoulder.

Sam grabbed the frame of his chair with one hand and hooked his arm around Vern's neck.

"On the count of three?" asked Vern.

Sam nodded.

"Okay. One—"

"Vern?" Sam interrupted. His face was intimately close to Vern's. Vern smelled like a distillery, too.

"What?" asked Vern.

"For a father-in-law, you're pretty"—hiccup—"badass." Sam was feeling sentimental, and, Jesus, his head was spinning, making his thoughts swirl.

"Thank you, son," replied Vern. "Okay. One—"

"Vern?"

"Yeah, Sam?" There was a bit of wryness in Vern's tone.

"Fern's badass, too."

"You got that right. Okay. One—"

"Vern?"

Vern sighed. "Son, I can't bend over like this all night. My back's startin' to hurt."

"I love you guys."

Vern chuckled. "We love you, too, Sam. And I ain't told a man I loved him since I was six years old, especially in this close proximity, so let's get you in that chair."

"Okay."

"Now, on the count of three. One—"

"Vern?"

"God Almighty. What, Sam?"

Sam swallowed thickly, the pain of everything hitting him hard, despite his drunken state. He was afraid he would never get TJ back. She was right under his nose, yet so far away. "I love TJ, too."

Vern hesitated and then spoke with sympathy. "I know you do, son. I know you do."

**XXXXXXXX**

Dean woke to his cell phone ringing. He'd had several beers with Bobby on the porch of Bobby's house before turning in, and his head was a little muzzy. He glanced at the clock on the phone as he pressed the talk button. It was after one a.m. He hadn't gotten a call this late (or early) in a very long time. He blinked his sleepy eyes and focused on the caller ID. It was Sam.

Dean was instantly awake. "Sam? What's wrong?"

"_Hey, Dean."_

"Sam, are you okay?"

Sam snickered, which was weird. Sam didn't snicker. _"You sound all big-brothery."_

"What time is it there, midnight?" asked Dean. "Why are you calling? Is something wrong?"

"_'M fine." _Sam sounded strange, like he was trying to get his tongue to fit around his words. _"I jus' wanted to call and see wha' chou were doin'."_

"You know what I'm doing. I'm at Bobby's—sleeping. I told you I was coming to see him."

"_I know. I jus' wanted to hear"—hiccup—"your voice."_

"Okay. You're officially creepin' me out. What's going on with you?"

"_Nothing. Everything's fine." _When he said "fine," it sounded like "fi-nuh," like he was trying too hard to say the word.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Dude, are you drunk?"

"_Yep." _Sam let out a sloppy sigh. "_I miss you, Dean." _He sounded so sincere. His voice was doing the kicked-puppy thing.

"I don't believe it," said Dean. "You're drunk-dialing me."

"_Whoa. The bed keeps spinning."_

"Grab something solid. Put your hand on the nightstand to anchor yourself."

"_Right."_

"Sam, why are you wasted?"

"_Because TJ's getting her opinions heard."_

"What?"

"_She's at Jeremy's. Jeremy doesn't think she's too thin, and he listens to her." _There was a mocking tone to Sam's slurred speech.

Dean was starting to get the picture. "You talked to her about getting counseling for the eating disorder?"

Sam sighed drunkenly. _"Yeah. Vern, Fern, and me. She was pissed."_

"You knew she would be."

"_Yeah."_

"It'll be okay, Sam. You did the right thing. You can't just sit by and watch her get worse. You know what will happen."

"_Yeah."_ There was a long pause. "_I don't think I can do this anymore, Dean. I want to give her time, but..."_

"But what, Sam?"

"_Maybe I should come back to California. Maybe I should try to get back into Berkeley or maybe somewhere else."_

"Sam, you can't do that. What about the twins?"

"_I'll leave them with TJ and her parents. They'll probably all be safer if I'm not here."_

"Is this about that nightmare you had?" Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. "It was just a nightmare, Sammy."

"_My nose bled, Dean. You know what that means." _

Time stopped for a split second at Sam's words.

Dean didn't want to hear it, didn't want to believe the nosebleed meant anything—didn't want to believe it meant Sam's freaky visions were back. "Listen to me. Robby and Sami Joy will not be better off without you. You know that. They need both TJ _and_ you. They need you to protect them, and besides, you'll never be happy unless you're with them."

"_I'll never be happy watchin' TJ with another guy, either. She's with him right now, Dean, probably snuggled in his stupid arms." _

The raw despair in Sam's voice made Dean's gut clench. "She won't stay with him. She's stubborn and she's just pissed off right now. She'll come to her senses." Dean hoped he was right. Damn TJ. Sam didn't deserve this.

"_S'rry I woke you, Dean."_

"It's okay. Look, man, don't give up. Fight for her. Don't let that dick Jeremy win."

"_Right. I'll go right"—_another hiccup—_"over there and kick his ass."_ He laughed sardonically. "_Oh, wait. I forgot. I can't kick."_

"Sam—"

"_G'night, Dean."_

Before Dean could reply, the line went dead. He got up and started getting dressed, gathering up his belongings and stuffing them into his duffel. It had been two and a half months since he'd seen his niece and nephew and Sam, and it was time he saw them again. He was done chasing Heather. If she wanted to get hurt or killed hunting, then so be it. He ignored the uneasy tightening in his gut at the thought. She'd made it clear she wasn't ever going to listen to him.

Dean scribbled a note to Bobby, explaining where he was going. Bobby would understand. Sam needed him. Enough said.

**XXXXXXXX**

His bed to the couch in the living room. That was pretty much the extent of Sam's accomplishments for the day. He had a ton of work to catch up on because he'd been sick, but that was out of the question. Even watching TV made his head ache. There was no way he could concentrate on work in his current condition.

Vern was his partner in misery, although Vern didn't seem to be quite as hungover as Sam. At least Vern hadn't thrown up. Sam had been praying to the porcelain god most of the day, not even able to keep water down until a couple of hours ago. It was almost four in the afternoon now, and he was trying to decide if he should chance eating something. He was starting to feel a little more human.

He felt like a slacker for sticking Fern with all the baby duties, but the first time he'd tried to change a dirty diaper, he'd barely found a trashcan in time before he threw up. The smell of the baby formula had a similar effect.

Vern was sitting in a recliner petting Rocket, who had somehow finagled his way onto Vern's lap. Sam suspected it was more a matter of Vern not having the energy or caring enough to make Rocket move, rather than a sudden tolerance for having the dog in his lap. Vern had never had a house dog in his life until Rocket; but, then again, Rocket seemed to worm his way into even the hardest of hearts.

No one had really spoken of TJ, but they were all on edge, waiting for her to come home. She was growing attached to the twins, starting to bond with them, and Sam hoped that, no matter how mad she was at him or her parents, she wouldn't stay away from Robby and Sami Joy for long.

Sam was lying on the couch, about to doze off, when there was a knock on the front door. Rocket perked up his head and let out a soft warning bark.

Sam and Vern looked at each other, neither of them making an effort to answer the door. There was another knock.

"I'm old," said Vern.

"Half my body is paralyzed," countered Sam.

Vern was unimpressed and closed his eyes. They were at a stalemate.

The knocking became persistent.

Vern finally yelled, "Ferna Sue!"

"Shh," said Sam, grimacing as Vern's loud voice ratcheted up his headache. "You're gonna wake the twins—or split my head open."

"It's time for the twins to wake up anyway. Fern!" Vernon yelled louder. "Someone's at the front door!"

Sam expected a smart reply from Fern that would put Vern in his place, but when none came, Sam levered himself so that he was sitting up and ran a hand through his hair, trying not to wince at his pounding head. "I'll get it."

He heaved himself into his chair and wheeled to the front door, bracing himself for the bright afternoon sunlight that he knew was about to stab at his eyeballs. When he opened the door, he nearly fell out of his chair.

Dean was standing there in a familiar, slightly bowed-legged stance; a day's growth of stubble on his jaw; with the same military-short, dirty-blond haircut he'd had ever since Sam could remember. His duffel was slung over his shoulder, and there was a smirk on his face.

Sam squinted up at his brother and grinned, despite his now-hammering head. "Dean?"

Rocket jumped off Vern's lap and ran up to Dean, rearing up and putting his front paws on Dean's leg, tail wagging with frenzied happiness.

"Hey, you little ghoul," Dean said to Rocket as he scratched between Rocket's ears. Dean's eyes traveled over Sam. "Dude, you look like ass. You feelin' okay?"

Sam made a nondescript noise in answer. "What are you doing here? I thought you were at Bobby's."

Dean shrugged. "I left after you called last night."

Sam frowned. "I called you?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yes, _Leaving Las Vegas_. You booty-called me."

"No, I didn't." Sam had no recollection of calling Dean.

"Yeah, you did. You sounded shitfaced."

That wasn't good. Sam wondered what he'd said to Dean.

"I figured you might need a Dean Winchester hangover remedy."

Sam groaned. "Dean, no. Don't."

Dean pretended to be thinking. "Hmm. How about some buttermilk with ham in it?"

Sam's stomach churned. "Dean, that's not funny."

"Oatmeal with Italian sausage?"

Sam covered his mouth with his fist, feeling bile rising to his throat. "Dammit, Dean. Stop!"

Dean grinned devilishly. "I know." He snapped his fingers and pointed. "Baby formula with chunks of hominy."

Inside the house, there was a laugh from Vern, who was apparently eavesdropping.

Sam surged his chair forward, causing Dean to jump out of the way, and made it over to the ramp, flying down it. He barely made it to the bottom before he started retching into a nearby flowerbed. When he was done, he pushed himself back up the ramp and glared at Dean, a sour taste in his mouth. "Thanks for that," he said sarcastically, but he wasn't really mad. He was too glad Dean was there. "So, I'm okay. You shouldn't have driven all night. It's—what?—a fifteen-hour drive?"

Dean scoffed. "I didn't come to see you. I came to see Rocket." Dean was crouched down, scratching Rocket's chest.

"Yeah. Right."

Dean chuckled, rose, and then squeezed Sam's neck affectionately. "It's good to see you, Sammy. I'd give you a hug, but I can smell your barf breath from here. Now, where's my niece and nephew?"

Sam smiled. "They should be waking up from their nap soon, if they haven't already." He swiveled his chair around and headed inside the house, Dean and Rocket following.

When Vern saw Dean, he was miraculously able to move again. He got up from his recliner and shook Dean's hand. "Well, hello, son. This is a nice surprise."

"Vern?" said Dean in greeting. "How you been?"

"Good. Good." Vern turned his head toward the kitchen. "Fern!" he shouted. "We got company!"

There was no response from Ferna Sue, and Vern frowned. "I wonder where she got off to."

"She's probably in the dining room getting the twins up," said Sam. It was weird, though, that Fern hadn't at least yelled back in response to Vern. "Come on," Sam said to Dean. "I'm sure the twins are awake with all the commotion."

Dean set his duffel down near the recliner and followed Sam. Sam slid the pocket doors to the dining room open quietly on the off chance that the twins had slept through all the yelling and were still asleep. He checked the salt lines as he always did. They were unbroken, but the twins' cribs were both empty. It wasn't really that out of the ordinary, but his blood ran cold. This scene was too familiar.

Anyone else might think the logical thing, that Fern had already gotten the twins up, but Sam knew. He _knew_. It was exactly what he'd seen in his nightmare, and the vision flashed through his mind in vivid detail, even the part where Dean had been standing right next to him. "No!"

Dean's brows knitted together into a vee of alarm. "Sam?"

Sam's heart started to hammer, blood rushing in his ears. "They're gone, Dean!" He clutched his head in his hands, his whole world spinning. "Please, no. No!"

Dean looked perplexed.

"The twins, Dean! They're gone!"

Sam pulled away from the door and headed toward the kitchen to find Fern.

"Sam—"

"It's just like in my nightmare, Dean!" Sam exclaimed impatiently over his shoulder. "Something's wrong. Something took them."

When he and Dean entered the kitchen, Vern burst through the back door. "I need help! Fern's lyin' in the yard unconscious." Vern's voice was frantic, his hands shaking.

Sam and Dean followed Vern outside and saw Fern lying near the wheelchair ramp. She was beginning to stir, her brow furrowing, and Sam was relieved that she was regaining consciousness. Dean and Vern flanked her, and Sam sat as close as possible in his chair, leaning over. He stretched out and grabbed her hand, holding his wheel with his other hand for leverage. "Fern?" he asked. "Fern, it's Sam. Can you hear me?"

She squeezed his hand and let out a little moan.

Vern palmed her cheek tenderly, turning her head toward him. "Ferna Sue? Come on, girl. Wake up for me."

Slowly, her lashes fluttered, and two patches of green peeked out from under half-open eyelids. She winced as the light hit her eyes.

Sam's heart was still pounding. "Fern, can you hear me? It's Sam. Where are the twins?"

"The twins?" she asked with another wince.

"They're not in their cribs." Sam tried to keep his voice calm, tried to be patient and let Fern get her bearings, but each second that ticked by put the twins in more danger. "Fern, did you get them up from their nap?"

"No," she answered weakly. It was clear she was out of it, but she was becoming more aware. She struggled to sit up, Dean and Vern helping her.

"They were...they were still asleep. I came outside to..." She grimaced and licked her lips. "I came outside to throw some old bread out to the birds. I was tossing crumbs, and then..." She trailed off, concentrating, like she was trying to see in her mind what happened.

"Just take it slow, Fern," Sam urged. "It's okay. Try to remember what happened next."

She shook her head gingerly, fear and desperation on her face. "I can't remember, Sam. I felt a sharp, splitting pain on the back of my head, and then everything went black."

Sam's heart plummeted to his stomach. "You didn't see who hit you?"

She shook her head, her eyes welling with tears. "Oh, God, Sam. The twins." She grabbed his hand and squeezed it in both of hers. "You have to find them." She choked on a sob, sounding almost hysterical. "You have to find them!"

Sam staved off a tsunami of fear and glanced at Dean. Dean's mouth was pressed into a grim line, worry etched in every line of his face. He rubbed his lips with his fingers.

"Shh, shh," soothed Vern, hugging a distraught Fern to him.

"We'll get them back, Fern," Sam promised. They would. The alternative was unthinkable.

Fern gave him an imploring look, and he felt a tightening in his chest. God, how could he have let this happen? He hadn't been at the top of his game. He'd stupidly gotten plastered last night and was too hungover. He'd let his guard down, and while he was throwing up in Fern's front flowerbed, something or someone had stolen the twins right under his nose. How could he have been so careless? How was he supposed to face TJ?

The terror of what could happen to the twins was crushing him, making it difficult to breathe, but he needed to get a hold of himself. Freaking out wouldn't do the twins any good. He needed to be rational so he could think, so he could figure this out.

"Fern, do you think you can stand?" asked Vern.

She nodded wanly. Dean and Vern helped her up, but she paled and swayed precariously. Dean scooped up her tiny frame before she could fall and cradled her in his arms.

Vernon's features were lined with worry. "Take her to the Tahoe. It's not locked. I'm gonna grab my keys and take her to the emergency room."

"No," Fern protested, one arm hooked around Dean's neck and one hand rubbing her temple. "I want to stay and help look for the twins. I'll be all right."

Vern shook his head. "You got your bell rung, Fern. I ain't takin' any chances." He took her face in his hands, and his voice was gentle as he looked her in the eye. "You won't do them twins any good like this. Let's get you checked out. Sam and Dean will find them."

She glanced over at Sam and then nodded reluctantly, slowly closing her eyes.

Vern jerked his head toward Dean, and Dean carried Fern to the Tahoe and carefully set her in the passenger seat.

When Vern and Fern were gone, Sam and Dean checked all the salt lines in the house. Vern, Fern, TJ—everyone—had learned to be careful. They usually stepped over the lines in the doorways, and if Sam had to roll over one, he always fixed any salt that was out of place. None of the lines had been broken anywhere, not in the doorways or the windows.

Sam ran a hand through his hair, trying to concentrate around the headache that had intensified with the hammering of his pulse. "Whatever took Robby and Sami Joy, it obviously wasn't a demon or a ghost," he said to Dean. "There's no way either entity could have gotten past the salt lines." He found it hard to believe. He'd been so sure the threat to the twins would be supernatural. Of course, there were other supernatural creatures immune to salt lines, but what would they want with the twins?

Dean's brows were drawn together. "Other options?"

"Human?" guessed Sam.

"Right. But who here in Green Acres would want to kidnap the twins?"

"I don't know, but maybe we should call the police. If it's a human..." Sam swallowed a mass of cold fear. "God, Dean. I don't understand. Who could do this?"

"Think, Sam. Who knows about the twins? Have they come into contact with anyone that made you suspicious or gave you the creeps?"

Sam thought back to the last few months. He'd met so many people. TJ and her parents had so many friends, not to mention all the cousins and aunts and uncles, but none of them had stirred Sam's Spidey senses. They all seemed to be down-to-earth, God-fearing, hard-working folks. He racked his brain, running each person's face through his mind.

And then it hit him, the way Jeremy's mother had been confused at the birthday party, how she hadn't wanted to give up Robby. "Jeremy's mother, Liv. She has some sort of dementia. She caused a scene at Jeremy and TJ's birthday party, thought the twins were Jeremy and TJ when they were babies. She was holding Robby and wouldn't give him back to us."

Dean's eyes widened, giving Sam a questioning look.

"The Suggs' house is just two miles away by car, and there's a shortcut through the pasture that cuts that distance in half. Liv could have sneaked up to the back of the house here and whacked Fern." Sam felt sickening guilt. "She could have done it while you and I were on the front porch. Everyone was distracted, even Rocket."

"Damn."

"Dean, TJ is there." Sam's blood congealed at the thought. If Liv was the one who had knocked Fern out, she was obviously more violent than anyone realized. TJ could be in as much danger as the twins.

Dean's expression was hard as he dug the keys to the Impala out of his jeans pocket and held them up. "I think it's time we pay Ma Suggs a visit."

_**TBC**_


	26. Chapter 26

_**A/N: Thanks so very, very much to Cartersdaughter, skzb, and Catsluver, my wonderful betas. You guys are the cat's meow. ;-)  
**_

_**Thanks to all of you who are still reading and/or reviewing. You're the best!  
**_

_****Warning:** Children in peril in this chapter.  
**_

**Chapter 26**

TJ's hands hurt. She'd been pounding on the door of the pantry for what seemed like hours, although she had no idea how long she'd been locked in the confined space. She'd tried kicking at the door, but it was old and made of solid oak, and there wasn't enough room in the pantry to swing her leg far enough to do any good. She didn't know how Aunt Liv had managed to lock it from the outside, but it wasn't budging.

She'd panicked when Liv had first shoved her into the windowless pantry, which was pitch black, except for a tiny sliver of light from under the door. TJ'd had a full-on anxiety attack. She couldn't breathe. Her heart felt like it would beat its way out of her chest. She yelled for Liv until she was hoarse, but Liv never answered. She cried. She thought the walls were closing in. She was running out of air. She pushed and pounded on the door until her hands were bruised.

But the walls hadn't closed in, and she was somehow still breathing. She slid to the floor of the tiny space. It was barely big enough for her to sit down with her knees hugged to her chest. She was exhausted, and now she needed to pee. If someone didn't let her out soon, she would have to pee her pants. Lovely. Where the hell was Jeremy? Surely he would be home soon. It seemed like she'd been stuck in the pantry for years. _Please, dear Lord, let him come home soon,_ she prayed.

She felt along one of the shelves and found a bag of something, opened it, and smelled. It smelled like potato chips, and her stomach growled. At least she wouldn't go hungry. She popped a chip in her mouth, savoring the crunchy saltiness of it. "Look, Mom and Dad!" she shouted. Then she laughed, and it was tinged with hysteria. "Look, Sam! I'm eating! Are you satisfied?" Her words soaked into the inky blackness of the pantry, going no further than her own ears.

She sighed. It was ironic that she'd fought with Sam and her parents about not eating, and now here she was, locked in a pantry full of food. Was God trying to tell her something?

Remembering her conversation with Jeremy last night, she popped another chip in her mouth defiantly. When Jeremy had opened the front door, she'd been upset, crying, and madder than hell—and had practically fallen into his arms. They'd gone into his den and sat together on his brown leather sofa.

He hugged her to him, draped his arm around her shoulders, and idly rubbed his finger up and down her arm in a soothing gesture. "So, I'm not complaining, but are you gonna tell me why you showed up on my doorstep so upset?"

She sniffed and rubbed the tears from her cheeks with her hand. Her nose was so stopped up from crying she had to breathe through her mouth.

"Hold on," said Jeremy. He got up and left the room. A minute later, he came back with a box of tissues and offered her one as he sat back down next to her.

"Thanks." She blew her nose.

"Spill it, Pippi." Jeremy's silver-gray eyes were sympathetic and kind. "Tell me what's wrong."

"Sam and my parents, they think I need to see a shrink."

Jeremy frowned a bit, like he was trying to understand. "You mean because of the amnesia?"

She shook her head. "No. Well, not really. They think I have an eating disorder." He didn't comment, just listened attentively, so she sighed and went on to explain. "Apparently, when I was at SDSU, I, um—I developed bulimia."

His frown deepened into one of concern.

She felt a flush creep up her neck. "You know me," she said, a self-deprecating tone in her voice. "It wasn't just your everyday, run-of-the-mill bulimia. I had to take it a step further. I was diagnosed with bulimia with anorexic tendencies."

"What does that mean, exactly?"

She looked down, embarrassed. "They said I would starve myself until I couldn't stand it anymore, and then I would..." She trailed off and swallowed hard. "They said I would binge and make myself throw up."

He didn't respond.

TJ looked up, expecting to see disgust, but his expression was one of understanding. She'd left out the part where she'd ended up in the hospital. She couldn't stand him knowing how serious everything had gotten.

"Hey. Come here," said Jeremy softly, pulling her into a hug. "I'm sorry, Nelly. I never knew."

She huffed. "I guess it wasn't something I wanted to broadcast."

He nodded and loosened his embrace, looking at her.

"Sam and my parents—they think because I haven't gained back any of the weight I lost in the hospital that I'm starving myself again." She met his eyes, imploring him to believe her. "They're wrong, and I'm so sick of them telling me what to do. They want me to be a woman, but they treat me like a child. They act like I can't think for myself, like I would be stupid enough to develop the bulimia again. I mean, my mom told me all about what happened. I'm not gonna let it happen."

He took one of her hands in his and rubbed his thumb over one of her fingers. "You are really thin, Nelly," he observed, "thinner than I've ever seen you."

She rolled her eyes. "That's just it. You've never seen me this skinny, but it doesn't mean I'm not healthy. You're just not used to it."

He frowned again.

"Even Aunt Liv said I looked good."

"TJ," he said dubiously, "my mother is delusional. She sees what she wants to see. She's not a good judge."

"I thought you liked how I look. You even told me I was beautiful."

"You are. I meant it when I said that, but if you put some meat on your bones, it won't make you any less beautiful."

She snorted. "Right. Let's not sugarcoat it, Jer. I've always had the corn-fed look."

He shook his head, about to speak, but she didn't let him. "I won't go back to that: feeling like a stout, lumbering farm girl. I'm in control this time. I like the weight I am, and I like my body. I won't let anyone take that away from me—not Sam, not my parents, not you." Frustration was beginning to build. "I came to you because I thought you'd understand."

"Hey, I'm on your side. You know that. But I didn't know the whole story. I just thought you were so thin because of everything that's happened, because of the coma and being in the hospital. Have you been intentionally trying not to gain weight?"

She groaned.

"Answer me, Nelly. Have you been dieting?"

She felt defensive. "I just watch my calories; that's all. Just like I've done my whole life. It's no big deal."

"Have you—have you made yourself throw up?"

"No!"

He looked relieved. "And this shrink they want you to see—it's someone that knows how to deal with eating disorders?"

"For God's sake, Jeremy, I don't have an eating disorder!"

He held up his hands in supplication. "I'm not saying you do, but what have you got to lose? If you're in control like you say, why not just go to the shrink and prove to everyone that they're wrong, that you're fine?"

She felt like howling with exasperation. "I shouldn't have to prove myself! I'm tired of no one listening to me!"

"It's a two-way street, Nelly. If you want them to listen to you, maybe you need to listen to them."

Her heart sank. "I thought I could count on you." She hadn't seen this coming, that Jeremy would side with Sam and her parents.

He tilted his head. "You can always count on me. You know that."

She huffed and sank back against the sofa.

"Hey," he said, putting his arm around her again, "all I'm sayin' is, don't be so defensive. Think about it when your emotions aren't runnin' so high. I don't know about Sam, but I know your parents wouldn't make you see a shrink out of the blue unless they were really worried about you—unless they had a really good reason."

She crossed her arms.

He smirked crookedly with amusement and gave her shoulder a couple of quick squeezes. "Just think about it," he said in his laid-back drawl. "That's all I'm sayin'. I'll support you, whatever you decide."

She'd gone to bed not long after that, borrowing a T-shirt from Jeremy to sleep in and staying in his guest bedroom.

"_Just think about it,"_ he'd said.

Well, being locked in a dark pantry certainly lent itself to a lot of thinking. She'd been thinking and thinking and thinking until her head hurt right along with her bruised hands. At this point, she would happily embrace Sigmund Freud himself and spill her guts to him if he would let her out of this damn pantry.

She missed the twins and her parents. She missed Sam with his broody eyes and broad shoulders. She wished she hadn't left the farm. Sam was right, at least about how she should have stayed and talked it out with them. Maybe he'd even been right about how she needed to act like an adult, although the comment still rankled.

It wasn't really Sam, though, that had sent her over the edge so much as her dad's threat to strap her on top of the Tahoe. She knew he didn't mean it, but it was the idea behind it that made her furious—the fact that they would force her to see the psychologist against her will if she didn't agree to it.

Still, what if Jeremy was right? What if she wasn't listening to Sam and her parents any better than they were listening to her? What would Other TJ be thinking right now? She would probably be more mature and try to see their side of things.

TJ tried to imagine what it had been like for Sam and her parents before. The eating disorder and the purging had been so severe she'd ruptured her esophagus—she'd landed herself in the hospital, for God's sake—and she knew how much that would have scared and worried her parents. Could she blame them if they were being overprotective and overbearing right now?

Sam had been there through it all. Her mom said he'd visited every day in the hospital, and he and TJ weren't even dating then, just friends. It was a surprisingly comforting thought, and it made TJ feel warm inside to think that he'd been there for her. Maybe she should cut him some slack. After all, Sam—awesome father to the twins, incredibly intelligent, kind, totally hot guy—loved her.

She suddenly got a lump in her throat and felt more than just warm inside. Sam loved her. He'd told her so many times. The meaning of that, the implications of it, were finally sinking in, and she felt an emotion that was overwhelming, that made her heart feel like it might burst. Did the possibility of the demon blood really matter?

She laughed a little maniacally. "What's a little demon blood gonna hurt?" she asked herself aloud. "Didn't bother you, did it, Other TJ?"

God, she must be losing it. She was overwrought and overly emotional and talking out loud to her alter ego. Being locked in a small, dark pantry for hours would do that to a person. She ran her hands through her hair, her ponytail holder long ago discarded and lost in the abyss of her prison.

Was she too thin? She didn't think so, but was that how it had begun before? Obviously, no one chose to be anorexic or bulimic. Well, that wasn't exactly true. She'd actually wished sometimes she could be like those girls who had so much willpower, who could resist temptation and eat nothing, no matter how strong or painful the pull of hunger was. Still, she didn't think she would consciously choose it. Was the eating disorder something that had sneaked up on her and had her in its clutches before she realized what was happening?

She ate the rest of the bag of chips for good measure, just to prove to herself that she could. When she was done, she licked the salt off her fingers and then wiped her hands on her jeans. Now what? She was going crazy in here, all alone with her thoughts.

"Get me the fuck out of here!" she yelled for the hundredth time.

Nothing happened.

She kicked at the door the best she could in her cramped position, but it just jarred her bladder and made her need to pee more.

She wondered where Liv was. Had Liv wondered off from the house? What if she was out on the road, lost and confused? What if she got hit by a car or something? TJ groaned. It would be her fault if something happened to Jeremy's mom.

It was rare that Jeremy ever had time to himself to run errands without having to take his mother with him and worry about her wondering off or having an episode and causing a scene. The only time he wasn't with her was during the week when he was at work and the home care nurse stayed with her. Today was Sunday, and he'd needed to go into Colleyville to pick up some groceries, take a farm implement in for repair, and do some other chores. He'd estimated it would take three or four hours.

Despite the fact that TJ had been ready to go home and see the twins, she'd volunteered this morning to stay with Liv as a favor to Jeremy. At the time, she'd thought it wouldn't hurt to let Sam and her parents stew a little longer. She realized now how childish and petty that was, and, boy, was she paying the price. If she'd gone home when she first woke up like her instincts told her to, she'd be safely at home with the twins and Sam instead of locked in this godforsaken pantry.

Still, how could she have foreseen what would happen? How hard could it be to keep Aunt Liv company and make sure she didn't wander off? Liv had seemed lucid for most of the morning, had only had one episode where she didn't recognize TJ. Her lucidity made her deception all the more painful and shocking.

She'd told TJ she would like soup for lunch, so TJ went to the pantry to look for a can of Campbell's. The next thing she knew, she was pushed into the small space and the door slammed shut behind her. She was so bewildered that she hadn't reacted at first, not even when she heard something being shoved up against the door. By then, it was too late to do anything, and she was stuck.

Liv hadn't said anything—not even demented ramblings explaining what she was doing like crazy people did in the movies. Just nothing.

TJ was jolted out of her thoughts by the melodious doorbell suddenly belting out its song throughout the front of the house. She raised her head, which was lying on top of her arm on a shelf, and banged it on the shelf above her. "Ouch!" She rubbed her temple, wincing a bit.

Pulse quickening with hope, she stood up. "Hello?" she shouted. "Help me!" She was yelling at the top of her lungs. "Help me! I'm in the pantry! Somebody help me!" She repeated it over and over, pounding on the door despite her sore hands.

The doorbell rang twice more and then stopped. The house resumed its cruel silence, and her heart plunged to her stomach with disappointment. She choked out a cry of despair. Whoever it was must have given up, thinking nobody was home.

Several minutes passed, and TJ was about to sink back to her pretzel-like position on the floor when she heard it. She almost sobbed with relief. It was the deep rumble of Sam's voice, and it was the most beautiful sound she'd ever heard.

**XXXXXXXX**

No one answered the door. Dean shot an expectant, arched brow toward Sam. Sam nodded and rummaged in his backpack until he felt the leather case of his lock-picking tools buried in the bottom. He hadn't used them in a very long time, but he always carried them with him. It was too ingrained in him not to.

He'd used the side-wheel method to get up the front steps of the Suggs house in his chair like he had the day he confronted Jeremy. This time, Dean had been there to add backup and help, and Sam made it up the stairs of the front porch fairly quickly, much to Dean's surprised amazement.

They'd rung the doorbell several times, but no one answered. Sam started to pick the lock. Jeremy's truck was gone, but TJ's car was in the driveway. It was possible that someone might be out back, but Sam would have the front door open faster than the time it would take Dean to go around back. In fact, it only took Sam a couple of seconds and he had the door unlocked, carefully pushing it open. The cool interior of the house seemed empty.

The formal living area of the stately old farmhouse was an obstacle course of expensive-looking, elegant antique furniture that Sam tried not to bump his chair into. He listened and watched for signs of the twins or TJ.

Dean was beside him and had pulled his gun out from the back waistband of his jeans. He cocked his head, listening.

"Hello?" Sam called. "Anybody here?"

Suddenly, there was a pounding noise in the vicinity of the kitchen. "Sam?" came a muffled voice. "Help! I'm locked in the pantry!"

Sam shot Dean a look and then pushed himself toward the kitchen. When they entered, Sam saw a stocky, heavy wooden chair tilted up against a door. The back of the chair was wedged underneath the black-iron doorknob.

There was more banging. "Sam, help!" It was TJ, and she sounded frantic.

"TJ, I'm coming. Just hang on."

"Sam?" This time, she said his name through the door with relief, almost reverently.

Dean tried to heave the sturdy chair out of the way, but it was wedged so securely that he had to kick at the legs to get it loose. When he finally opened the door, TJ came spilling out, falling into his arms and hugging him tightly. "Thank the Lord," she drawled, her Kentucky accent thick.

Sam didn't think she really knew or cared who she was hugging at the moment, but he didn't like that it wasn't him. Dean gave him a look over TJ's shoulder that said _awkward _and returned the embrace, gingerly patting her on the back. Finally, she seemed to get a hold of herself and pulled back, frowning.

"Uh, hi." Dean's innate cockiness was in his voice, but the expression on his face was cautious. "I'm Dean. Your brother-in-law."

She broke completely away, crinkling up her freckles and looking perplexed. "Dean?"

"In the flesh. It's good to see you, TJ."

She stared at him. "You look like your picture."

"Devilishly handsome?" he asked, waggling his brows.

She stared at him another second, not commenting, and then turned her attention to Sam. Considering the argument they'd had last night, Sam was surprised when she leaned down and hugged him hard. He put his arms around her, lost for a second in the familiar smell of her hair and the warmth of her body.

"Oh God, Sam." Her voice was full of emotion. "You don't know how glad I am to see you."

As much as he was glad she didn't seem to be angry with him anymore and as much as he wanted to savor how good it felt to have her in his arms, they didn't have the time. He would give anything not to have to tell her about the twins, but he had no choice. Reluctantly, he placed his hands on her arms and pushed gently until she pulled back a bit. He was about to tell her the news when he noticed a red spot on her temple that looked like the beginning of a bruise. His gut clenched at the thought that Liv might have hurt her and he frowned. "Are you okay?"

"I think so. Nothing a big drink of water and a trip to the ladies' room won't fix."

He brushed his fingertips over the bruise. "What happened?"

She closed her eyes briefly at his touch, then smiled sheepishly and straightened. "I hit my head on a shelf in the pantry."

"Did Liv lock you in the pantry?" queried Dean.

"Yes," TJ answered, glancing at Dean. Her attention went back to Sam, her gaze filled with worry. "We have to find her, Sam. She's so unstable. I'm afraid she's gonna hurt herself."

Sam caught Dean's eye.

"What?" said TJ. "Why are you two lookin' like that?"

"TJ..." Sam paused, feeling a block of ice forming in his gut at what he was about to tell her. "...the twins are missing."

She paled, freckles standing out against white skin. "What?"

He didn't want to say it, didn't want to admit that he was a freak and his horrific vision had come true. He saw the realization dawn on her face, saw her expression of fear.

"We think Liv took them," said Dean, his tone no-nonsense and brusque. He was in hunting mode now.

TJ put a shaking hand to her mouth. "Oh, God."

"We need you to think, Teej," said Sam. He could see that she was becoming distraught, and he needed her to stay focused and not lose it. "Is there someplace here on the Suggs farm that she might take the twins? We're guessing she's probably on foot, that she couldn't have gone far."

"There's the shed and the tobacco barn," answered TJ. "We should check those places first."

Sam nodded and they went out the backdoor, where there were fewer steps. He bumped quickly down the steps on the back wheels of his chair, hardly even holding onto the rail. They reached the shed first, but after a thorough, quick check by Dean, who said it was empty, they headed to the barn. The barn was well away from the main house and in close proximity to the tobacco fields.

The barn was set on a rise, and Sam pushed hard to make it up the hill, balancing on his back wheels so his front casters wouldn't get bogged down in the hard-packed gravel of the driveway that led to the barn. He held his own, keeping pace with Dean and TJ, fueled by adrenaline and fear. Dean and TJ appeared to be as breathless as he was, and neither noticed Sam's difficulty. He didn't know whether to take satisfaction in that or be irritated. Either way, he was too stubborn to ask for help.

As they neared the barn, Sam could see the white-and-pink blooms of the tobacco plants in the fields. The farmhands employed by the Suggs would begin cutting the blooms by hand tomorrow—same as at the Nelek farm, only with less help—but today was Sunday, and the farms were pretty much deserted of workers.

The tobacco barn was an old, tall, two-story structure that was made of gray, weathered wood. It had two huge, square double doors in front that hung on a track, and Sam could hear the twins' faint, muffled crying coming from somewhere within the barn even before Dean slid the doors open. Sam's pulse started to hammer with a mixture of relief that they'd found the twins and fear of what could be happening to them.

When they entered the barn, it was dim and cool compared to the much warmer temperature of the humid, early-August day outside. The twins' cries pierced Sam to his soul, and he frantically looked around the barn's lofty interior, his heart still pounding.

"Over there," pointed TJ. "The stripping room."

Dean and Sam followed her frantic pace over to a small side door, where a room for stripping tobacco had been added on. The door was locked, but the twins' cries were louder. Sam could hear Liv behind the door trying to soothe them. TJ looked like she was about to call out to Liv, but Sam grabbed her hand and squeezed, shaking his head urgently and signaling with a finger over his mouth that she should be quiet. He didn't want to spook Liv, who was obviously unpredictable. He wasn't taking any chances with the twins.

TJ, her hand trembling in Sam's, got the message and nodded.

Sam dug out his lock-picking tools and quickly unlocked the door, which was obviously newer than the age of the barn itself. TJ raised her brows briefly at Sam's nefarious skill but didn't comment. When Dean drew his gun, her eyes widened.

Dean tried to quietly open the door inward, but the hinges creaked.

"Get out!" Liv yelled from somewhere in the stripping room.

So much for the element of surprise.

Dean was the first to enter the room, followed by TJ and then Sam. "Don't move," barked Dean, pointing his gun at Liv.

Sam clamped down on his wheels with viselike grips as he took in the scene before him. The twins were lying together, side by side, on a yellow blanket with puffy little white lambs printed on it. The blanket was in the middle of a makeshift crib that Liv had made using a pile of loose hay she'd gotten from somewhere. Robby and Sami Joy were both a livid red, crying hysterically, hands fisted and little legs kicking rigidly with fury.

Liv was in the process of picking up a large, double-handled metal pan of what Sam at first thought was boiling water, but the thick, white, acrid billow of smoke coming from it couldn't possibly be water. His blood ran cold when he saw that she had heated the pan on a portable Coleman camping stove, and next to the stove was a very large, empty bottle of cooking oil.

His brain didn't want to comprehend what his eyes were telling him. He knew from what he'd learned in high school chemistry long ago that the smoking point of most oils was well over two hundred degrees Fahrenheit _hotter_ than that of boiling water—and water boiling at two hundred twelve degrees would have been bad enough. If Liv's intention was to pour the oil on the twins, it would kill them. If by some miracle it didn't, they would, at the very least, endure horrible pain and be disfigured for life.

Liv straightened when she saw Sam, Dean, and TJ. She held the pan of smoking oil with what looked like white rags to protect her hands from heat. She backed up a step and hovered over the twins, the pot precariously looming over them. Her face was framed by the white smoke coming from the hot oil, and it made her look like a gruesome apparition instead of a human being.

Sam's heart lurched in a terrifying surge of panic, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself to remain calm. He glanced at TJ and saw that she had gone pale, her fists clenched at her sides.

Liv scoffed at Dean. "I'm not afraid of your gun. God will protect me."

"Dean..." Sam said in warning.

When Dean glanced at him, Sam shook his head. It was too risky. If Dean shot her, she would more than likely drop the pan of scalding oil on the twins. Dean hesitated for a second, clearly reluctant, but then he lowered his gun.

"Aunt Liv," said TJ warily, "what are you doin'?"

Liv looked at her with contempt. "You escaped."

TJ swallowed. "I—I'm sorry." It was clear she wasn't sure what to say, that she didn't want to set Liv off.

Sam's body was coiled tightly, ready to spring. He wanted so badly to tackle Liv and get her away from the babies, but even if he were physically capable of doing that, he was too far away and so was Dean. Besides, there was the chance Liv would panic and spill the oil if she saw Dean charging her.

Sam kept his voice calm and even, belying the fear pumping through his veins. "Mrs. Suggs, what—what are you gonna do with that hot oil?"

Her eyes went to him—insane eyes in the face of a woman who was still attractive for her age, despite her madness. It was incongruous and disconcerting. "I'm gonna baptize these babies," she said self-righteously. "I'm gonna anoint them and cleanse them of the evil they've been exposed to."

TJ drew in a shuddering breath, and Sam felt his heart plunge to his stomach like a boulder. Dean's jaw cemented. Everyone was frozen—held hostage by fear for the babies' lives.

Sam fought to keep a clear head and held up a pacifying hand. "Mrs. Suggs, that will hurt them. I know you don't want to hurt them."

She shook her head. "No. It won't hurt them. It will cleanse them, anoint them with God's blessing, and make them pure again. Jeremy and TJ have been among evil. I'm going to save their souls."

TJ was quiet, but tears began to roll down her cheeks.

"No, ma'am," said Sam respectfully, gritting his teeth in order to keep his emotions in check. "They're just innocent babies. The hot oil will hurt them badly." He swallowed hard and searched her face for any hint he was getting through to her. "It's not Jeremy and TJ. Look at the boy's eyes, Mrs. Suggs. They're different from your son's. Remember?" Sam's voice was imploring, pleading with her to remember.

"I'm not fallin' for that this time," said Liv, shaking her head. "That is my son and TJ." She glanced at "grownup" TJ and then back to Sam. "You and that whore have influenced Ferna Sue and Vern—even Ross. You've brainwashed all of them." Her dark-blue eyes glinted with a fanatical light. "But not me. God has shown me the truth. He has shown me the way."

In Sam's peripheral vision, he saw Dean begin to move almost imperceptibly, easing his gun into the back of his waistband. It was a long shot, but if Dean could somehow get behind Liv, maybe he could disarm her of the oil without too much risk to the twins. Unfortunately, the chances of her not noticing Dean's movement were almost nil, but it was the only chance they had.

Sam's heart thudded. He needed to keep Liv talking, give Dean a chance to get closer. He tried to think, tried to drown out the cries of the twins and the anguish the sound stirred in him, the cold fear he felt at the sight of their angry, helpless, kicking little legs. "Think about it, Mrs. Suggs," he went on, talking loudly over the babies' crying. "Ferna Sue and Vern are good people—God-fearing people. They wouldn't let anyone evil near the twins." He indicated TJ. "TJ and I—"

"That is not TJ!" Liv shouted. "You think I'm blind?" She glanced down at Sami Joy. "That baby right there is TJ." She looked at TJ. "This girl is a whore!"

A sob escaped TJ. "No. Please, Aunt Liv—"

"Don't you call me that!" Liv roared.

TJ flinched.

"I'm not your Aunt Liv!" Her delicate features were twisted with rage.

TJ stared for a second, and then something hardened in her demeanor. She drew her shoulders back and became almost defiant. "You're right, Liv. I'm evil."

Liv tilted her head, intent on TJ, her eyes away from Dean.

"That's right," said TJ. "Can't"—her voice broke—"can't put anything past you, can I?"

Liv's mouth curled into a leer of satisfaction. "So the whore admits to her sins."

"Yes. I want you to cleanse me. I want you to use that oil on me to—to anoint me and burn away my sins."

Sam was horrified at the suggestion, but then Dean inched a little farther away from TJ and Sam. Sam realized that TJ's intent was the same as his—trying to distract Liv from Dean. Liv's hostility seemed to go much deeper toward TJ, and TJ was using that to hold Liv's attention.

Liv looked down at the pot of oil in her hands as if she were contemplating what TJ had said. The oil wasn't smoking anymore, but Sam had no doubt it would still be extremely hot.

"Please, Aunt—please, ma'am," TJ pleaded. "I need you to save me."

Dean moved another step, but he still wasn't close enough.

Liv looked up, her mouth tight with resolve. "No. These babies come first. They have to be saved first. After that, we'll see." She had to yell to be heard over the babies' crying.

"Please," TJ begged. She lost her composure, her face crumpling and a sob escaping her.

"Mrs. Suggs," said Sam, quickly trying to hold Liv's attention away from Dean, who had managed to inch a little bit closer to her, "shouldn't the...baptism be done in a holy place, a church?"

A beatific smile crossed Liv's features. "God has blessed this place. He told me so." She glanced down at the twins. "I even made a manger for them, just like where the baby Jesus lay after he was born."

Dean took advantage of her momentary distraction and made a bigger move, but Liv looked up in time to see him. Everything happened in a flash after that.

"No!" TJ screamed.

Sam was suffused with sickening terror. Suddenly, he couldn't hear or see anything but the pot of oil tilting toward the twins. It was all he could see, and he saw it with laserlike focus: the dark liquid flowing in slow motion over the lip of the pot toward Sami Joy's little trembling fists and Robbie's little legs that kicked out as if he had a chance of defending himself.

A head-splitting, life-draining force of energy, born of pure rage, was sucked out of what felt like every cell in Sam's being, along with his breath. The energy culminated in his chest and burst forth like an invisible, thousand-volt punch of electricity.

The dangerous contents of the pot froze in midair and then scattered into a harmless spray of emulsified droplets that were blown away without hurting anyone. The pot itself, along with Liv, went flying across the room. Both hit a far wall and fell to the floor with loud thuds, the metal of the pot making a whanging sound as it came to rest. Liv lay either stunned or unconscious on the floor from hitting her head on the wall.

Sam's vision grayed, and it was all he could do to stay upright in his chair. He grabbed his wheels to steady himself. It felt like ice picks were being rammed into his skull, the pain worse than anything he'd ever felt after one of his visions. Something trickled from his nose. He tasted the metallic flavor of blood on his tongue when he licked his upper lip. He felt nauseous and woozy. His heart was beating so hard, he felt like he was running a marathon. It was hard to breathe, and he sucked in shallow breaths, trying to get enough air.

TJ ran to the twins and scooped them up, holding one in each arm and hugging them to her. She shushed and crooned, crying right along with them.

Dean approached Liv with wariness, gun drawn again, but she wasn't moving.

TJ looked up from the twins, frowned, and called Sam's name, but he couldn't hear the sound of her voice—only the blood rushing in his ears. Everything seemed to slow down, as if TJ and Dean were moving through a mire of thick air, like the blurry heat waves that rise from the blacktop of a hot desert road.

TJ shouted something at Dean and he turned to Sam, then tucked his gun back into his jeans and ran toward Sam in slow motion.

Sam felt odd, like he was teetering on the edge of a cliff, but maybe that was because he couldn't seem to find his balance, no matter how tightly he held onto his wheels. He felt very ill, and the pressure in his head was excruciating.

He couldn't think clearly, couldn't really fathom what was going on around him anymore. He had the urge to laugh like a mad scientist in a horror movie at the absurdity of his life. He might have if he'd had enough breath. The question of whether or not he still had the demon blood and its powers had been answered once and for all, leaving zero room for doubt. He was officially a freak. He would never be normal. Liv's accusations of evil hadn't been so far from the truth, at least where he was concerned.

He looked at TJ and the twins, his intense love for them mixing in his heart with irony and despair. He grimaced, blinded by the pain of it all. And then everything went black.

**XXXXXXXX**

"No!" TJ screamed, but it was too late.

It all happened so fast. One minute, the world was ending. The harm to the twins was imminent, and TJ's heart stopped and jammed up in her throat. She could see Liv beginning to pour the hot, molten oil over the crying twins.

Sam let out a harsh gasp—a gut-wrenching noise from deep inside him—and the lines of his face were taut with pain.

There was a burst of energy in the room, sort of like a powerful blast of static electricity, that made TJ's hair follicles prickle.

The oil stopped. In midair. Then, unbelievably, the oil _changed_ its course, spraying harmlessly away from the twins.

Liv went flying across the room and hit the wall so hard it knocked her out.

TJ didn't understand what was happening. She was stunned for a split second, but the sight of Robby and Sami Joy's red little faces and the sound of their hysterical wailing spurred her into action. She ran over to them and picked them up, hugging them closely to her chest. "Shhh," she soothed.

She could feel the intense body heat of both babies, a physical manifestation of their acute distress. "Shhh. It's okay. It's okay. Mommy's here." She kissed both their heads, inhaling the scent of them, feeling the softness of their downy hair brushing against her lips. She thanked God they were unharmed and felt warm tears of her own trailing down her cheeks.

It was then that she looked at Sam, and her stomach pitched with alarm. He was paler than she'd ever seen him, as if his blood—his very life—was draining out of him. He was panting, his hands gripping his wheels tightly as if he were trying to maintain his equilibrium, but he was swaying dangerously.

"Sam?" she shouted, her heart beating frantically. "Sam, what's wrong?"

He didn't answer, just stared at her with a dazed, haunted look on his face. He seemed to grow even paler, and she suddenly knew without a doubt he was about to pass out.

"Oh, my God. Dean!" she yelled.

Dean was carrying the gun she'd seen earlier, cautiously approaching Liv. He turned with a questioning look at the sound of his name.

"Something's wrong with Sam!"

Dean's attention instantly focused on Sam, and he tucked the gun into the back of his jeans and ran toward his brother. He reached Sam just as Sam's eyes were rolling into the back of his head and he was starting to topple from his chair. Dean caught him and carefully lowered him to the floor, still keeping Sam in his arms.

"Sammy?" Dean wiped away a trickle of blood from Sam's upper lip with his sleeve, then patted Sam's cheeks, trying to rouse him. Sam's body was completely limp, his head lolling listlessly on Dean's arm. "Come on, Sammy. Wake up." Dean's voice was gruff with worry.

Sam didn't respond.

"Dammit! Come on, Sam!"

TJ rushed over to Sam and Dean, her heart still racing. "Is he—is he breathing?"

Dean hardly spared her a glance. "Yeah, but it's too rapid." He put two fingers on the pulse point of Sam's neck and paused for a second. "His heart's beating too fast. It could be a sign of shock. I'm calling an ambulance."

A cold wave of fear washed through her. She wanted to touch Sam, to beg him to wake up and be okay, but there was no way she was willing to put the twins down. Their cries had turned to little hiccups, but they were far from being completely soothed. Besides, she didn't know if she would ever be able to let them go again after the horror of what had just happened with Liv.

TJ stared at Sam's ashen face. She didn't understand what had happened—or maybe she didn't _want_ to understand what her eyes were telling her brain they'd seen. It was one thing for Sam to talk about his demon power, to say he'd moved things with his mind and had visions, and quite another to see it in action firsthand.

As they waited for the ambulance, Dean kept trying to rouse Sam without success.

TJ gently rocked on her feet with the twins, continuing to soothe them. "Do you—do you know what's wrong with him?"

Dean looked up at her, his brows in a winged vee of concern. "You know about the visions, right?"

She nodded.

"They take a lot out of him, cause him to have migraines, but what happened today..." He trailed off, his eyes settling on Sam's face. "I don't know. I've never seen him react like this. He's never been out this long, but I've never seen him move things like he did today."

Just then, they heard the siren of the ambulance approaching, and Dean's head snapped up in her direction. "Follow my lead. Go along with whatever I say. We can't..." He gave her a direct, meaningful look with eyes that were the same color as Sam's. "We can't tell them what really happened. You understand?"

Again, she nodded. If they told the truth, there was a good chance they'd get hauled off to the psych ward right along with Aunt Liv. TJ glanced at Jeremy's mom, who was beginning to stir, making a faint moaning noise. Not knowing whether to be relieved that Liv didn't appear to be hurt too badly or to be afraid, TJ was glad when she heard the paramedics burst noisily into the barn.

"Hello!" one of the paramedics called.

"In here!" Dean yelled. He pried himself from Sam's side long enough to show the paramedics where Sam was in the stripping room.

Two young male paramedics entered. One started immediately assessing Sam, and one made his way over to Liv. She was awake now, although still dazed. Dean kept a wary eye on her, even as he hovered near Sam.

TJ stood with the twins as far away from Liv as she could get. Dean's weapon was concealed now, but TJ was reassured that, if Liv was suddenly capable of trying something, his gun would be within easy reach.

Dean helped the paramedic load Sam onto an ambulance stretcher, and the paramedic hooked Sam up to a portable monitor. An oxygen mask was placed over his face and an IV started in his arm. The paramedic was saying words like "shock" and asking Dean urgent questions about Sam's medical history and what had happened to him.

All TJ could do was stare at Sam. He looked so still and lifeless, even more vulnerable than he had when he'd been sick with the cold. It was painfully wrong seeing him like this. He usually filled up a room with his quiet, strong presence. The atmosphere was always subtly charged when he was near.

She kept silently willing him to wake up and barely heard the story Dean was telling the paramedics—something about Liv knocking Sam out and Dean, in turn, knocking her out in a struggle to keep her from hurting the twins. The paramedic who was working on Sam, a ruddy-complected guy with short, strawberry-blond hair, looked familiar to TJ. But who didn't look familiar to TJ in Moss Fork?

After a few minutes, Sam's breathing had eased, and she heard the paramedic say that he was stable. The paramedic, whose hands were covered with thin, blue, rubber-looking gloves, carefully examined Sam's head and then frowned. "I'm not seeing any head wounds to your brother's head. Where did you say Mrs. Suggs hit him?"

Dean scowled. "I don't know. It all happened so fast. I think I was in shock at what I was seeing."

The paramedic turned his attention to TJ. "Hey, Nelly."

"Hey," she said, racking her brain for the guy's name.

He smiled faintly. "Pat. Patrick Owens. I was a grade below you at Tucker County High."

"Oh, Paddy Owens!" He'd been a lot chubbier in high school. "I remember you. I'm sorry I didn't recognize you at first. I guess you've probably heard that my memory isn't what it used to be." Of course, she remembered high school, but he didn't need to know the specifics of her amnesia if he didn't know them already.

He reddened and concentrated on examining Sam. "Yeah. I heard."

She nodded toward Sam and his empty wheelchair that was sitting nearby, figuring there wasn't a soul in town who didn't know her story or who Sam was. "Then you probably guessed that's my husband, Sam Winchester." The babies were slipping a little, and she hefted them up to where they were secure again, then nodded toward Dean. "And this is my brother-in-law, Dean Winchester."

She wanted Pat to know that Sam and Dean weren't strangers, that they were part of her family and were trustworthy. She hoped if he knew who Sam and Dean were, he wouldn't have the suspicion of outsiders that folks from small towns often had. He might be more willing to swallow the story Dean had spun for him.

Pat inclined his head toward Dean in acknowledgment.

Dean was still scowling. "Look, can we get the pleasantries over with later? I'd like to get my brother to the hospital."

Pat bristled a bit. "Just hold your horses. I need to get an _accurate _history of what happened here."

TJ was uneasy. Apparently, Pat wasn't buying what Dean had told him. Dean looked convincingly pissed off, like he'd been wrongly accused of lying.

"Pat," said TJ, looking at Sam with worry, "please. We've told you all we know. Are you sayin' we're liars?" It was one thing to think it, but she knew Pat would never call them liars to their faces. He was a good ol' Kentucky boy at heart, and that wouldn't be polite.

He glanced over to Liv, who was now being helped by his partner. Her eyes were wild and skittish. She was cringing away from the paramedic, who was gently touching the back of her head. He was asking her questions, but she wouldn't answer. All she could seem to do was mumble incoherently.

"I'm sure you know about Liv's...illness," TJ suggested quietly.

Pat stared at TJ for a long moment and then finally nodded, his mouth set in a grim line. "All right. Nate," he called to his partner, "let's get 'em loaded."

TJ watched a deathly pale, unconscious Sam be wheeled from the room. She tried not to think about what might be inside him that had made him capable of flinging Liv across the room without ever touching her. Closing her eyes, TJ lifted up another prayer that Sam would be okay—and hoped that God would still listen.

_**TBC**_


	27. Chapter 27

_**A/N: Thanks so much to Cartersdaughter, Catsluver, and skzb. I don't know how else to say it: You guys rock!  
**_

_**Happy Thanksgiving to all of you in the U.S., and Happy Wednesday to everyone else. :-) Love you all!  
**_

**Chapter 27**

They took TJ's car to the hospital because the bases for the twins' car seats were already installed in it. After a brief stop at the Nelek farmhouse to hastily pack a diaper bag, Dean and TJ arrived at the hospital in Colleyville not too long after the ambulance that was carrying Liv and Sam.

Dean, black diaper bag stuffed to the brim and slung over his shoulder, immediately went to the reception desk of the ER to see what he could find out, while TJ carried a twin secured in a car seat carrier in each hand. The carriers were surprisingly heavy, despite the fact that the babies themselves didn't weigh very much. TJ headed toward the waiting room to find a place where she could set them down.

The twins had fallen asleep in the car, completely exhausted after their ordeal, and TJ was glad they'd calmed enough to be able to sleep. When she walked into the waiting room, she saw her dad sitting in a blue waiting-room chair, his head in his hands.

"Daddy?"

Vern looked up, and as soon as he saw the twins, he was up and starting toward them, a relieved expression on his face. "Thank the Lord." He gave TJ a quick hug and took the carriers from her, hauling them over to the bank of chairs where he'd been sitting. He set the carriers side by side on a couple of the chairs and kissed each sleeping baby lightly on the forehead, careful not to wake them.

TJ'd called Vern on their way to the hospital and told him everything that had happened, that the twins were okay, but it seemed to be just now sinking in with him that they were really safe and sound. He stared at them like he was mesmerized.

TJ sat in a chair on the other side of where he'd set the twins, and the carriers were sandwiched between her and her dad. "How's Mama?" she asked.

Vern tore his bright-blue gaze from the twins. "They think she's gonna be okay. They took her up for an MRI, and if everything looks good, we can take her home tonight. I told her you had the twins and they were safe, and she perked right up after that."

TJ sighed with relief.

"How's Sam?" asked Vern.

TJ shook her head and glanced at Dean, who was being handed a bunch of paperwork on a clipboard. "I don't know, Daddy. He was so pale, and he wouldn't wake up." She was afraid for Sam and started to tremble, her hands shaking. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself.

Her dad moved to the chair next to her, put his arm around her, and surveyed their surroundings. There was no one in the waiting room except for an older couple in a far corner. "Tell me what happened again," he said in a hushed voice.

She quickly explained the whole terrifying ordeal to the end. "Then there was this raw, powerful energy coming from Sam, and Liv and the pan of oil were flung away from the twins. Whatever he did, it hurt him somehow—took something out of him—and he lost consciousness after that."

Dean had quietly joined them during TJ's account of everything and was sitting in the chair Vern had vacated, filling out the forms on Sam's medical history and insurance info. It made TJ feel a bit inadequate. She was Sam's wife. She should know at least some of that stuff, but she realized she knew nothing about Sam's medical history and was glad Dean was there to give the correct information.

Vern looked concerned, his blue eyes intense. "Have mercy. I hope Sam'll be all right."

"He will," Dean stated adamantly, his expression leaving no room for any other outcome. "You got your insurance card?" he asked TJ.

She dug it out of her purse and handed it to him.

Vern rubbed his chin, looking pensively at TJ. "Stick with the story Dean told the paramedics. Pat or one of the doctors is bound to call the sheriff. If the police show up, you let me and Fern do the talkin'. You hear? We'll try to get the heat off."

TJ nodded.

"I can handle the cops, Vern," said Dean. His tone implied he'd done it many times. "Trust me."

Vern shook his head. "You probably can, given your past, but I'm good friends with Sheriff Lockhart, and Fern and his wife Martha are in one of them ladies' civic clubs together. They're pretty good friends too. We'll take care of it."

"What if Liv tells everyone what happened?" asked TJ.

Vern looked solemn. "It's all of us against her, and no one will dispute that she's mentally ill. No one will believe her—especially not such a crazy story. They probably wouldn't believe such a story even if she was sane."

TJ stared absently at the industrial, white-tiled floor. It felt wrong to lie like that, to take advantage of Liv's situation and use it against her, but what choice did they have? Above all else, they had to protect Sam.

**XXXXXXXX**

"You really miss them, don't you?" asked TJ, glancing at Dean.

"Yeah." Dean was holding Sami Joy, feeding her a bottle with a fond smile on his face, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. It was clear how he felt about his little niece.

TJ was feeding Robby and shifted her gaze back to him, but her mind was still on her newfound brother-in-law. From what TJ had seen of Dean so far, she liked him. She tried to imagine what it had been like to work with him at Shorty's. She'd seen glimpses today of a wry sense of humor and a down-to-earth intelligence she appreciated. He was very good-looking and attractive like Sam, although in an entirely different way. In just the few hours she'd spent with him, she could see that he and Sam were like night and day.

Dean's looks were more all-American with his spiky, short, dark-blond hair, which was the complete opposite of Sam's long, darker locks. Dean had an air of confidence, a kind of affable cockiness that made him likable and drew a person in, even in the anxious state they were both in now. They'd been waiting almost two hours to hear news of Sam. Despite Dean's charm, TJ got the feeling he didn't let too many people get close to him.

Sam, on the other hand, had a quiet strength and presence that was noticeable without being cocky. He seemed to have no clue how gorgeous he was, and he was one of the most considerate, genuine, open people TJ had ever met.

Both brothers were courageous under fire. They'd been focused and cool-headed in a very horrifying, gut-wrenching situation with Liv and the twins. Sam had picked the lock to the stripping room without batting an eye, and Dean had pulled out his gun and aimed it at Liv like it was second nature, leaving no doubt that both brothers knew what they were doing and had done it many times before. Throughout the whole, very disturbing scene with Liv, they'd been the lethally calm hunters they were trained to be, although they must have been just as terrified for the twins as TJ was. Her heart hurt with worry for Sam, and she prayed that he would be okay.

Another minute or two passed before she spoke to Dean again. "So, Sam said you took good care of Robby and Sami Joy when they were in the NICU. He said you even named them."

Dean gave her an arch look, making it obvious that he knew how she and Sam felt about the names he'd chosen.

She poked her cheek with her tongue, amused, but then got serious again. "He said he pretended like they didn't exist, that he didn't want to have anything to do with them."

Dean grunted.

"I find that hard to believe. Sam loves Robby and Sami Joy so much, and he's so good with them. I can't imagine him ignoring them—especially when they would've been so vulnerable."

Sami Joy made a little smacking noise and then broke the latch on her bottle. Dean set the bottle down in the empty chair next to him and shifted her to his shoulder, kissing the side of her blond head and patting her back like a pro.

He was a natural with Sami Joy, and TJ was touched by the gentle way he handled the baby and a little envious. She still hadn't completely gotten the burping thing down.

He stared at the floor with a zoned-out look that made it obvious how tired he was, and TJ wondered how long he'd been on the road before he made it to Moss Fork. When Sami Joy burped, he seemed to come back to himself and chuckled softly, then cradled her in his other arm and started feeding her the rest of the bottle.

TJ had begun to think he wasn't in the mood to talk, but then he said, "Sam wasn't himself right after the twins were born. He thought he'd lost you forever. I think he blamed himself for the stroke and what happened to you, and he was devastated.

TJ reeled at that. "Why? How could it have been his fault?"

"It wasn't," Dean stated simply. He gave her a pointed look. "But it seems like Sam's not the only one who laid the blame on his shoulders."

Her stomach knotted with remorse. "He told you how I acted toward him when I first woke up?"

"We talk. Usually can't get him to shut up," he muttered.

She rested her head against the wall, staring at the ceiling. "I've been such a bitch to him and so unfair. I was angry, and I wanted someone to blame. He was a stranger and an easy target."

Dean nodded. "He understood that, and he wanted to be patient and give you time. And I think, deep down, he believed he was getting what he deserved."

She looked at him sharply. "What do you mean?"

He sighed, using his shoulder to rub at his jaw since his hands were occupied with Sami Joy. A day's growth of stubble made a scratchy noise when he did so. "Sam had to choose between you and the twins. You took a turn for the worse—had a really bad seizure that left you in a much milder coma than what you eventually ended up in—and the twins were only at twenty-three weeks' gestation. You'd made it clear that, under no circumstances, did you want to deliver the twins before the twenty-four-week mark. There was no guarantee they would be okay even then, but anything before that point was pretty much a certainty the twins would die.

"I know my brother. He never said it in so many words, but I suspect you knew he would choose you if it came down to you or the twins. I think you made him promise he would choose the babies over you. But when it came down to it, he couldn't do it. He chose you. You were in danger of dying or having a severe stroke if the doctor didn't go ahead and deliver the babies, and he broke his promise to you."

TJ was overwhelmed by what Dean was telling her. Sam had chosen her. Unable to fathom the agony it must have caused him to make such a decision, she was humbled—and stunned by the magnitude of his love for her.

"When you had the stroke anyway, in spite of them taking the twins early, he saw it as his punishment for betraying his promise, and he was devastated and racked with guilt. No one expected the twins to live, and those damn doctors in San Diego didn't give us much hope you would ever wake up from the coma—and if you did, they said you'd probably have severe brain damage."

He looked her in the eye. "I don't have to tell you that Sam already knows what it's like to live with a disability. He didn't want that for you. He thought he'd lost everything, and he went off the deep end. I think he ignored the twins because he was afraid to love them." Dean's intense gaze morphed into anguish for his brother. "He's lost just about everyone he's ever loved, TJ—except for me and Bobby."

She pictured what it must have been like for Sam, the heart-wrenching pain he must have experienced. Her throat clogged with tears, and she didn't fight them as they slid down her cheeks.

Her respect and admiration for Dean was amplified tenfold. He'd been there for Robby and Sami Joy when she and Sam couldn't be, and he'd helped get Sam through a very sad, difficult time.

Dean looked down at Sami Joy, who was making little sucking sounds on her bottle. "Did he...has Sam told you about Jessica?"

"Yeah," TJ answered softly. "He told me."

He slanted a look at Robby. "You better burp him."

She was so engrossed in what Dean was telling her that she'd completely forgotten that she was still feeding Robby. He'd drunk almost the entire bottle without being burped. She felt bad and immediately got him to unlatch from the bottle and started burping him. His little belly was too full of air, and he spit up formula all over the shoulder of her pale yellow T-shirt. It broke some of the tension in the room, and TJ huffed out a small laugh. "Uh-oh."

Dean eyed the white burp cloth on his shoulder. "You need this."

She quickly wiped the tears from her cheeks with a few swipes of her hand and took the cloth, cleaning off her shoulder and wrinkling her nose a little at the sour-sweet smell of the spit-up formula.

Vern, who had been with Fern filling out release paperwork, came into the waiting room, pushing Fern in a wheelchair.

When TJ saw them, she got up and walked over to them, still cradling Robby in one arm and hugging Fern's neck tightly with her other. "Mama, thank God." She breathed in the perfumed scent of her mother and was flooded with love for her.

"Watch out, sugar," said Fern with a weak, self-conscious chuckle.

TJ drew back and saw that Fern was wincing. TJ had apparently squeezed her mother a little too tightly. "Oh, Mama. I'm so sorry!"

Fern waved a hand. "It's okay, hon. The back of my head is just a bit tender."

"Not to mention she has a monstrous headache," Vern added.

Fern scowled at Vern over her shoulder. "I'm fine. Nothing some Extra-Strength Tylenol won't cure." She noticed Robby in TJ's arms and reached for him. "Praise Jesus," she said sincerely, deep relief and joy on her face.

TJ was a bit reluctant, given Fern's condition.

Fern made an impatient noise. "I'm fine. Give that baby to me right now," she ordered, and TJ knew she'd better do what she was told. She handed Robby to Fern, and Fern hugged him to her chest and then bathed his cheek with kisses. "Grammy is so happy to have her baby boy back," Fern crooned. Robby smiled a gummy, dimply smile.

After a minute, Fern glanced up, noticed Dean standing nearby, and beamed at him. "Dean? Hey, sugar."

Dean smiled tiredly and bent down to hug Fern gently. "I'm glad you're okay."

"Thank you, hon." She motioned for TJ to come take Robby, and then Dean handed Sami Joy to her. Fern greeted Sami Joy in much the same way, bathing her with kisses. Sami Joy rewarded her with a kick of her legs and a dimply smile like her brother's. Fern laughed and hugged the baby to her again.

"Still nothing about Sam?" asked Vern.

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face and blinked like he was trying to wake himself up. "No. I'm gonna see if anyone knows anything at the reception desk."

Vern nodded, and Dean headed toward the desk. TJ noticed his slightly bow-legged gait. It fit him and underlined his easy self-confidence.

"Well," Vern said to Fern, his hands still on the push handles of the wheelchair she was in, "I think we need to get you home."

Fern frowned. "No. I'm stayin' until we know something about Sam."

TJ held Robby on her shoulder with one hand and squeezed her mother's wrist with her other hand. "Mama, please. We'll call you as soon as we know anything. You need to take it easy."

Fern just waved a hand in dismissal.

"Mama," TJ said in a chiding tone, "Sam would want you to go home and rest, too."

"What about the babies?" asked Fern.

"Dean and I can handle them. You're in no shape to—"

"Nonsense," Fern bristled. "I'm fine. I'll take me some Tylenol and be good to go."

Vern frowned at that. "Ferna Sue—"

"Vernon Nelek, I know what I'm capable of. I wouldn't take on those babies if I didn't think I could handle them." She looked at TJ. "They'll be fine with me, hon."

"Mama, it's not really the twins I'm worried about. I know you'll take good care of them, but you should be resting," TJ reiterated.

"I've rested enough all afternoon in this dang hospital. It'll be the twins' bedtime by the time we get 'em home," Fern reminded. She eyed the spit-up stain on TJ's top wryly. "Looks like you just got done feeding them. All I have to do is change them and get them ready for bed. Daddy will help me."

TJ glanced at Vern. He gave her a resigned nod of assurance, but TJ was still reluctant.

Fern looked indignant. "Lawsy, TJ. They'll be better off with their slightly-addled Grammy than they will here at this hospital, being exposed to God knows what-all kind of germs."

TJ sighed, giving in. "All right."

Fern smiled with satisfaction. "It'll be all right, hon. We'll get them in bed, and then I'll go to bed myself."

TJ eyed her mother sternly. "You promise?"

Fern gave a decisive nod. "I promise."

Dean came back from the reception desk with a doctor in a white coat and green scrubs as TJ was packing up the diaper bag and strapping Robby into one of the car seats.

"This is Dr. Bonner," Dean announced.

TJ did a double-take and then smiled, recognizing the portly, slightly balding doctor. He'd changed in six years, but she now realized that he was the husband of one of her more distant cousins, Beth. "Hey, Steve."

Vern and Fern seemed to recognize him at the same time. "Well, hello, Dr. Steve," said Vern, offering a hand to shake.

Dean rolled his eyes as if he should have known TJ and her parents would already know Dr. Bonner.

"Vern?" Steve greeted with a polite nod and a shake of Vern's hand. Then he took Fern's hand in both of his in a more solicitous gesture. "Miss Ferna Sue, how are you feelin'?"

"I'm fine, Steve. Just a bump on the head."

Vern huffed at Fern's understatement of her injury.

Steve grimaced. "Sure is a shame about Miss Liv. It's hard to believe she's the one that walloped you."

Fern's features clouded, and all she managed was a sad-sounding, "Yes."

"I guess you-all know Jeremy's been back with her since he got here," said Steve. "He's had a calming influence, but she's still not makin' much sense."

TJ felt a quiver of unease. She was no saint by any means, but she hated this whole situation—lying to everyone, worrying if the story they'd told would be believed, guilt for taking advantage of Liv's mental illness, worry for Sam; even sympathy for what Jeremy must be feeling at seeing his mom in such a state.

Vern schooled his features into an expression of cautious concern. "What's Liv been sayin', Steve?"

"Well, I haven't been treating her, but I just heard she's been saying stuff about flying through the air." He shook his head. "She's even been saying Sam threw her."

They were all silent for a beat, and then Dean spoke. "Sam didn't touch her."

_Well, at least that part is true,_ TJ thought ironically.

Steve was still shaking his head. "Yeah. I know he didn't. Even if he had, it's obvious he couldn't have thrown her through the air, given his paralysis. She's delusional. Jeremy's working with the psychiatrist on staff here to get her transferred to a mental hospital in Lexington, one of the best. Since y'all aren't pressing charges, she won't be jailed."

TJ shared a look with her parents and Dean. They'd all spoken with the sheriff, who said their stories were basically a formality, anyway. Nobody had asked too many probing questions. As long as no one was pressing charges against Liv, the law officials tended to agree that the best place for her was a mental facility—as long as she would be under lock and key. Jeremy's family was well-respected around Tucker County. As long as the Winchesters and the Neleks were okay with it, everyone seemed to want to sweep the whole incident under the rug.

"Anyway, as I was telling Dean over at the desk," Steve went on, "we took Sam up for an MRI and a CT scan, and both came out clear." He scratched his bald spot. "We can't find any trauma to his head where Liv might have hit him. Quite honestly, I'm confounded by his condition and what could have knocked him out for so long."

Steve's uncertainty scared TJ. "Will he be okay?"

"Well, nothing is physically showing up on any of our tests. His vitals look good, and he seems healthy. The initial shock the paramedics reported was reversed by the IV fluids he was given, and even though he hasn't regained consciousness, he's made what we call 'voluntary movement.' I can't find anything that would make me think he won't be waking up soon."

There was a collective sigh of relief.

"They should have him settled in a regular room before too long. I'm trying to make sure it's private," he said with a wink, implying he was pulling some strings, "and you-all can go see him. We'll know more about when he can go home after he wakes up; but even if he wakes up fairly soon, I'd still like to keep him overnight for observation."

"He's gonna love that," Dean murmured with good-natured sarcasm.

Vern offered his hand to the doctor again. "Thanks, Steve."

"Sure. If you have any questions, call Beth."

Vern chuckled. "That's right. 'Cause Beth knows everything." Beth had always been kind of a bossy know-it-all, but she had a good heart.

Steve smiled indulgently. "Don't tell her she knows everything. I'm the one that has to live with her," he said with another wink.

Once Steve was gone and both twins were strapped securely in their car seats, TJ and Dean helped her parents carry the babies out to her car. She switched vehicle keys with her dad and gave Sami Joy and Robby tender kisses on the baby-soft skin of their foreheads, thanking God yet again that they were unharmed. Then she hugged her parents goodbye, thanking them for taking the twins home, and made Fern promise again that she would take it easy once she put the babies to bed.

When TJ and Dean made it back inside to the waiting room, Dean sat next to TJ and leaned his head against the wall. She could see that he was too tired to have a conversation, and she watched as he got drowsy and dozed off.

It was the first few moments TJ had really been able to stop and think about everything. The memory—the horror—of watching Liv almost severely burn or maybe even kill the twins replayed in her head. It made her sick to her stomach, but she couldn't hate Liv for it. The Aunt Liv she'd grown up with would never have hurt a hair on any baby's head—let alone babies she thought were Jeremy and TJ. The Liv from TJ's childhood had been a lively, sweet, fun, gentle, _good_ woman—and a very loving mother.

TJ felt a deep, overwhelming sadness that such a wonderful person had been stricken with such a devastating and violent mental illness. It was shocking and hard to comprehend, and if TJ hadn't seen and experienced firsthand the depth of Liv's depravity, she would have been hard-pressed to believe it. She hoped the place Jeremy was transferring Liv to was a good place and a secure place. A very secure place.

TJ wasn't an expert on mental illness by any means, but she didn't have much hope after what she'd witnessed today that Liv would ever be the same or would ever be able to live independently again. TJ knew one thing: If Liv was ever released from wherever they took her, TJ wanted the twins to be as far away from her as possible.

"Nelly?"

TJ looked up to see Jeremy walking slowly toward her, hands in his jeans pockets and shoulders hunched. There was a haggard, hollow expression on his face. She'd never seen him look so dejected or so forlorn.

She felt sorry for him and stood, instinctively taking him into a hug. He held onto her like he was drowning.

Dean woke from his doze and instantly stiffened at seeing her hugging Jeremy. His accusatory gaze bored into her, making her feel uncomfortable, and she drew back, extricating herself from Jeremy's desperate embrace. She hadn't meant anything by it, just a friend comforting a friend, but she knew how it must look to Dean. She couldn't get totally free of Jeremy, however, and his hands remained on her shoulders.

When Jeremy spoke, he sounded bewildered and defeated. "What happened, Nelly?"

"Your mother almost deep-fried my niece and nephew," Dean interjected harshly, his features hard and unforgiving.

TJ winced at the horrible imagery his words evoked, but she couldn't blame him for his anger. He didn't know Jeremy, except for maybe what Sam might have told him, and she figured that probably hadn't been too favorable.

Jeremy blanched and looked shaken. She led him to a chair and sat next to him.

Dean shot up out of his chair as if he couldn't stand to be in such close proximity to Jeremy, skewering both TJ and Jeremy with a look of disapproval.

TJ realized Jeremy was getting blamed by association. "Dean, Jeremy didn't—"

"I'm gonna go ask again about _your husband_," Dean emphasized tersely, not letting her finish, "and then I'm going for coffee." He stalked off before anyone could say anything else.

TJ hated that Dean clearly thought she was betraying Sam. She would try to explain to Dean later what was going on, why she'd been hugging Jeremy. It wasn't what he thought, and it also wasn't Jeremy's fault that Liv had tried to hurt the twins. After all, TJ was the one that was supposed to have been watching her.

Jeremy was staring bleakly at a point on the floor, an empty, bereft look in his gray eyes. He met TJ's gaze, speaking in a low tone, aware of a few others who had trickled into the waiting room. "My mom kept spoutin' off something about the man in the wheelchair and his black, devil magic throwing her against the wall." He got a strained look on his face. "Obviously, she's out of her mind. But what really happened?"

TJ's stomach twisted at the thought of Sam and his display of telekinesis, and she was assailed by another pang of guilt that Liv was telling the truth but no one would believe her. TJ reminded herself that Sam had to be protected no matter what. There was no denying that he was...different. She couldn't say she hadn't been freaked out by what she'd seen him do, but did he have evil inside of him?

No. The more she got to know him, the harder it was to believe it was possible that there was even a drop of evil in him. Today, he'd done what he had to do to save the twins, and she wasn't even sure how much control—if any—he had over the power that had gushed out of him.

Besides, whatever was inside him that made him capable of the hocus-pocus had affected him worse than anybody else who had been there (well, except maybe Liv) and had taken an obvious toll on his body. TJ would never forget the grimace of pain that had marred his handsome face or the scariness of seeing him pass out. It made her heart ache, and she wanted to see him. She wanted to touch him and feel the warmth of his skin and see for herself that he would be all right.

"Nelly," said Jeremy, breaking into her thoughts, "tell me what happened. Sheriff Lockhart filled me in as best he could, but I want to hear it from you."

She sighed wearily. She really didn't want to tell the story again and gave the briefest account possible, following Dean's advice to keep the details of the "doctored" version of the tale to a minimum. "Liv got away from me at your house after she locked me in the pantry. We think she walked to my parents' house and knocked my mom out, then took the twins. Thank the Lord that Sam and Dean figured it out. They freed me from the pantry at your house, and we located Liv out in the barn in the stripping room. She was about to..."

TJ's voice faltered as a fresh wave of horror washed through her. She fought to maintain her composure, but her voice still came out a little shaky. "She was heating a large pan of cooking oil with the intent to pour it on the twins. She said she wanted to—to anoint them and purify them."

Jeremy's face reddened, his features crumpling into a look of shock and revulsion.

"It all happened very fast, and I was utterly terrified, but I think Sam tried to get to the twins. When he did, Liv hit him hard with a stick and knocked him out. He—he still hasn't regained consciousness."

Jeremy dropped his head into his hands, and his voice was filled with anguish when he spoke. "Good God Almighty."

TJ went on, praying he would buy the rest of the story. "Dean got into a struggle with Liv after she knocked Sam out. He hit her on the head to stop her before she could pick up the pan of hot oil."

Jeremy scrunched his fingers into his hair, his distress nearly palpable. Finally, he looked at her, his silvery eyes bright and brimming with moisture. "I'm sorry, TJ. I'm so sorry."

She put her arm around him and hugged him. "It's not your fault. You didn't know."

He pressed his forehead to his hands and then looked away, surreptitiously wiping at his eyes. After a moment, he spoke softly. "Maybe I did know. Maybe I just didn't want to admit it."

TJ frowned. What was he saying?

"I knew she was getting worse. I just didn't want to believe it. Suzie, the assistant we hired, warned me. Then, there was my mom's behavior at the birthday party. I should have seen it comin', Nelly. I was in denial." He looked queasy. "And those innocent babies almost paid the price."

The thought scared the bejesus out of TJ, and it brought home what was really important. She regretted how much precious time she'd wasted away from the twins. She was going to make it up to them—to Sam, too—and be the best mother she could possibly be.

Jeremy's eyes were intense. "She almost hurt _your_ babies, TJ. Yours and Sam's. I'd never forgive myself if that had happened. It would have been my fault for not acting sooner—for not having her committed to a hospital sooner. I'm sorry. I thought—I hoped the outpatient therapy and the medication would be enough."

"She's your mom, Jeremy. No one blames you for not wanting to have her put away. I would be the same way if it were Fern."

He shook his head, not giving himself a reprieve. "It's not just that, Nelly. I—I think I've made things harder for you."

"What do you mean?"

"I should have stayed away from you. Sam asked me to. Well, he didn't exactly ask," Jeremy said dryly. "He _told_ me to stay away, but I didn't. I was such an arrogant bastard." His face was the picture of remorse. "I've taken advantage of you—of the amnesia—and I think I've confused you more. You're married and you're a mother, Nelly. I should have given you a chance to see what that was all about, but I was selfish. I wanted you, I wanted my mom to be okay, and I went around pretending and living my life like I could have both."

TJ removed her arm from his shoulders and placed her hands in her lap, clasping them tightly and staring. Sam had confronted Jeremy. It was sort of a heady feeling knowing he'd done that.

"I said I'd never hurt you again, but I did. I'm so sorry. I owe Sam an apology, too, but I think he might shoot me if I show my face around him anytime in the next twenty years. And if he doesn't, judging by the way his brother looked at me earlier, _he_ will."

She didn't say anything, but she knew Jeremy was right. Dean obviously didn't take too kindly to anyone who wronged his brother. Jeremy was better off steering clear.

"I wouldn't blame them if they did shoot me," Jeremy said. He paused for a moment, a look of bittersweet regret on his features. "I know that you're startin' to have feelings for Sam, Nelly—despite my best efforts—and it's clear as day that he loves you. I gotta hand it to the guy. He made you fall in love with him _twice, _and it didn't take him long to do it, either."

Love? She had strong feelings for Sam, yes, but it was too soon for love. Wasn't it? She'd really only known him a little over a month. Was it love, the way her body reacted instantly whenever he was near, the way his scent or the sight of his magician's hands or his dimples made her heart turn cartwheels and her belly tighten? That was just lust, right?

When he'd been sick, she'd felt protective of him, had wanted more than anything to ease his discomfort. Was that love or just compassion? Was it love that he made her laugh so easily, that she got misty sometimes just watching him with the twins? Was it love, the overwhelming feelings she'd gotten when Dean had told her what Sam went through after the birth of the twins, knowing how much he'd sacrificed for her?

Jeremy smiled faintly. "Yes, _love_," he drawled, sensing her turmoil. "Don't look so bewildered. And don't be afraid to go for it. After all, you married the guy. He's gotta have something going for him. The Nelly I know would never have settled for anyone less than her soul mate."

"I used to think that was you."

Jeremy's eyes brightened with moisture and he swallowed, taking a second to compose himself. "I know."

TJ sat there for a moment, letting everything he was saying soak in. He was coming clean and letting her go. The last vestiges of her fantasy—of having a life with him—were crashing and burning, and she hardly even felt it. She should be angry with him for taking advantage of her memory loss, but she wasn't. The simple truth was, she was glad he'd been there for her. She'd needed the familiarity of him to get her through the devastation and the utter shock of waking up married to a stranger and being the mother of two infants. But she hated how much her relationship with Jeremy must have hurt Sam.

Jeremy's confession—not to mention his astute observations—were making things easy for her, and her mind was finally starting to listen to what her heart had been telling her about Sam all along.

She gave Jeremy a wistful smile and squeezed his hand in a show of forgiveness. "I guess it's time we both grew up."

He nodded and then hung his head in a rueful manner. "You know, I was such an asshole. I told Sam I'd let you choose, that I wouldn't back off unless you chose him—and may the best man win."

TJ's brows shot up and she almost laughed with incredulity. She couldn't believe Jeremy had said that. Sam must have been so pissed—although, to his credit, Jeremy was still breathing.

Jeremy's gray gaze was suddenly penetrating and serious when he looked at her again, and she was sobered by it. When he spoke, he was sincere and earnest. "The best man won, Nelly." He squeezed her hand for emphasis. "And it ain't me."

**XXXXXXXX**

His brain was being pounded by a sledgehammer. He had a vague thought that this was one hell of a hangover, and he was never drinking again—ever. There were voices around him, speaking too loudly, and he tried to bat them away. Then the blackness set in again, and it was a relief.

When he woke again, it was to someone calling his name.

"Sammy?" It was Dean, and his voice was low and gruff.

Sam grimaced at the sound because it hurt his head, but he was instantly relieved Dean was there.

"Sam, open your eyes."

He did. Big mistake. He groaned at the sharp, searing pain that shot through his head when the light hit his eyes.

"Oh, shit. I'm sorry, man," Dean said. Sam felt Dean get up and heard the noise of lights being switched off. "There. Now try it."

Sam turned his head away. No way was he opening his eyes, even if the lights were off. He tried to swallow, but there was nothing but sawdust in his mouth.

"Here," said Dean quietly.

Sam felt a straw at his lips, and he groped for it blindly with his mouth, taking a sip. The liquid was water, and the coolness of it felt good going down his parched throat. When the water hit his stomach, however, it was a different story. He felt nauseous and clumsily pushed the cup away.

"Dude, you are so dehydrated, despite the IV. You need to drink more."

Sam grunted a refusal.

Dean sounded worried. "It doesn't help that you were nursing a bitch of a hangover before everything else happened."

Before everything else? Sam tried to sift through the tangle of pain in his head, tried to remember. "Where 'm I?"

"Hospital."

"F'ck," Sam cursed around his thick tongue.

Dean snorted. "Try to contain your enthusiasm."

Sam finally braved opening his eyes again, but only to slits. It was still painful, but it helped that Dean had turned out the lights. "Wha' happened?"

Dean's close-cropped hair and shadowy face came into focus. "Freaky demon power scrambled your eggs. Looks like you've got a migraine from hell." He looked pleased with his own wit. "Get it? From hell?"

"You're a j'rk."

Another faint chuckle.

"Vision?" Sam slurred out.

Dean's features tightened. "Not exactly."

Sam was wary. "What then?"

"Drink," ordered Dean, holding up the cup.

Sam ignored the proffered straw. "Tell...me." He sounded weaker than he would have liked.

"Not until you drink more."

Feeling too shitty to argue, Sam took a couple more sips and willed his stomach not to rebel. He gave Dean a look that said his brother had better start talking.

"You don't remember anything?"

Sam wanly shook his head.

"I'm gonna give you the short version." Dean's expression was grim. "Liv kidnapped the twins and wanted to baptize them—with smoking-hot cooking oil."

Memories came flooding back to Sam—finding the twins missing from their cribs, someone knocking Fern out, TJ locked in a pantry, Liv holding hot, smoking oil over Sami Joy and Robby. It made Sam sick with gut-wrenching fear, and he lost the battle with his stomach. "Dean..."

He didn't have to say more. Dean supported him and helped him lean over a plastic emesis basin, and Sam retched what little contents were in his stomach.

Afterward, Dean held the straw to Sam's lips again. Sam rinsed his mouth and spit the water into the basin. Once he was done, Dean helped him lie back against his pillow.

The rest of the nightmarish scene came back to Sam, how something had exploded out of him, some kind of power he had no control over; how he'd somehow thrown Liv across the room and diverted the burning oil away from the twins.

Dean seemed to sense that Sam remembered and gave an abrupt nod. "Yep. Your Criss Angel mojo saved the twins. They're fine. So is TJ."

Sam closed his eyes, relieved that the twins and TJ were okay but wary of what Dean and TJ were probably thinking of him. "The demon blood..." he started hoarsely.

Dean squeezed his wrist.

Sam had never felt so bleak, like he was truly at rock bottom—of the blackest pit on earth. He opened his eyes and looked reluctantly at Dean. "I guess there's no doubt that the...evil...in me is still there."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah. You're evil. You got me quakin' in my boots."

"Can't deny it..." Sam winced, feeling a particularly harsh pain shoot through his brain. "Can't deny it anymore, Dean."

"I'm not denying you're a freak. Nothing new about that. But you're more of the geek variety of freak. You're not evil."

Sam turned his head away. "I'm like the things you hunt."

"Look at me, Sam," Dean ordered.

Sam didn't respond.

"Look at me."

Sam resisted for a minute, but then finally rolled his head toward Dean.

"We're gonna settle this once and for all." Dean's expression was hard and direct. "I don't give a crap if some demon supercharged your blood with hoodoo. You are my little brother. You are not a monster. End of story. If I hear you talking that shit again about being evil, I will kick your ass."

Sam relaxed a fraction, despite the fact that he felt a sense of hopelessness and despair. Whatever Yellow Eyes had tainted him with, it hadn't died with the demon. But at least Dean was still his brother and would always have his back. Sam quirked a weak smile and closed his eyes, feeding Dean the standard joke. "Can't feel my ass."

"Get some rest, bitch."

Sam put his arm on top of his forehead—the arm an IV wasn't sticking out of. For some reason, the pressure of his arm soothed his head, made it feel like he was stopping it from exploding. "How long have I been out?"

"Several hours."

Sam felt completely wiped out and groggy, like he'd been out for days, and his head was throbbing with each beat of his pulse.

"I'm calling the doctor," said Dean with a worried scowl. "He'll need to check you out now that you're awake. We'll get you some of the good stuff for your head."

Sam let his arm drop back down to his side. "No. Jus' get me out of here. Wanna see the twins. And TJ." He scanned the dim room, wincing at the pain even the small movement of his eyes caused and started to lever himself into a sitting position. "Where's...my chair?" He was only up on his elbows and he already felt dizzy.

"Whoa, dude," said Dean, gently pressing a hand to Sam's chest.

Sam had no strength to resist and collapsed back onto his pillow, closing his eyes. "Where's TJ?"

There was a hesitation. "Like I said, she's fine."

Sam made the monumental effort to open his eyes again. "She with Jeremy?"

Dean's features were neutral—too neutral. "She's here. She'll come see you in a minute," he said evasively.

Sam shut his eyes, suddenly feeling like he was a hundred years old. "She's with Jeremy," he stated, answering his own question.

"She's just talking to him in the waiting room, telling him what happened."

There was something off in the tone of Dean's voice, an acidic edge to it he couldn't hide, and Sam knew there was more Dean wasn't saying. Was TJ out there hugging Jeremy, consoling him? Was _he_ consoling _her _because his psycho mom had almost disfigured the twins for life? Sam felt heartsick, and he didn't want to know any more. He ground his teeth together, which made his head hurt worse.

There was a second of uncomfortable silence, and then Dean changed the subject. "Fern's gonna be okay. She's got a bad headache, but she felt well enough to take the twins home and put them to bed with Vern's help."

Sam forced himself to stop grinding his teeth and let out a sigh of relief. He was glad Fern would be okay. "'S good."

"So, if anybody asks, you were trying to help the twins when Liv whacked you over the head and sent you to migraine land. I don't know how much of our BS the doc or anyone else is buying, but no one's questioning it too closely, thanks to the good-ol'-boy network."

Sam nodded. "'Kay."

Dean patted him on the shoulder. "Go to sleep, princess—at least until the doc comes to harass you."

Sam's body wasn't giving him much choice. His head was killing him, and the only relief seemed to be the oblivion pulling at him. He started to drift off—his heart heavy as visions of TJ in Jeremy's arms haunted his dreams.

_**TBC**_


	28. Chapter 28

_**A/N: Thank you to my wonderful, fabulous, selfless betas, skzb, Cartersdaughter, and Catsluver, who take time out of their busy lives each week to help me out tremendously with this story. Special thanks to Catsluver for convincing me that Dean needed to be much angrier in this chapter and for lending me some of her talent for description in making him, well, Dean. :)  
**_

**_Thanks, as always, to the guests who reviewed last chapter and to all of you for reading, reviewing, alerting, or favoriting!_  
**

**Chapter 28**

When TJ found Sam's room, Dean was standing outside the closed door, leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets. He was wearing a charcoal-gray T-shirt, jeans, and work boots. How had she not noticed that before? If someone had asked her five minutes ago, she wouldn't have had any idea what Dean was wearing. She realized then just how rattled and preoccupied she'd been by everything. "How's Sam?" she asked.

He gave her a what-do-you-care kind of shrug, expression hard.

"Please, Dean," she drawled softly.

He stared at her for a beat, then spoke brusquely. "He woke up briefly and I talked to him. He was lucid. Doc's in with him now."

"Is he gonna be okay?"

Dean's brows drew together. "He's got the mother of all migraines. The doc's gonna give him something for the pain. He should be okay eventually."

Her stomach clenched at the thought of Sam in pain. "I came as soon as they told me he was in a room."

"Sorry they interrupted your touching reunion with Jeremy," Dean mocked.

Dismayed by his hostility, TJ tried to explain. "Dean, Jeremy's a close friend. I've known him all my life. He's like family, and his mother—who was my mother's best friend and like an aunt to me—is about to be carted off to the nuthouse. What was I supposed to do, tell him to fuck off?"

"That would have been a start." Anger flashed in his eyes. "Are you forgetting what Auntie Suggs almost did to the twins?"

"No," she said, feeling a stab of cold queasiness in the pit of her stomach at the reminder. "I'll never forget that as long as I live. But it wasn't Jeremy's fault."

"No?" His jaw hardened. "He should have kept her on a leash."

"She's mentally ill, Dean." TJ was disturbed by Dean's callousness. "And it's not like he left her alone. If all this is anyone's fault, it's mine. I should've been more on guard. I was the one who was supposed to be watchin' her."

He scrubbed a hand over his face and the rough stubble on his jaw. Dark circles underneath his bloodshot eyes were a dead giveaway he was exhausted. "Yeah, well, he never should've left you to watch her. He knew better—or he should have." His face contorted with contempt. "And apart from letting his psycho mom run loose, Jeremy's been a dick to Sam."

"Yes, he has," TJ conceded, "and he's sorry for that."

Dean snorted doubtfully. "He should be. I ought to go out there and rip him a new one in his sorry ass. He turned you against Sam every way he could. He used every trick in the book to separate you from Sam—not only from Sam but from your own babies!" Dean's voice had gotten steadily louder, and his last words seemed to echo in the hall.

TJ was shocked and a bit intimidated by Dean's wrath, which, although slightly skewed, wasn't unjustified. She felt shaky and drew in a fortifying breath, trying to calm her nerves. "Everything you said is true, but it wasn't all Jeremy. I was no saint in all of this—and Jeremy really does feel bad about everything. So do I. I know he took advantage of my memory loss, and it was shitty of him to do that, but..." She stopped. It was probably a waste of breath to defend Jeremy to Dean.

"But what?" Dean snapped, prompting her.

She let out a resigned sigh. "Maybe I let him take advantage. I needed him, Dean. At least, I thought I did."

He turned his head away from her and stared at the wall opposite him, jaw set in granite.

"I don't expect you to understand, but I want you to know whatever was between us—whatever I _thought_ was between us—is over. He's just a friend, and that's all he'll ever be. I love him like a brother." She huffed an ironic laugh and ran her hands through her hair. "I can't believe I just said that." She'd always hated it when guys said they loved her like a sister.

Dean stared at her intently. She got the feeling he was about to say something caustic, but they were both distracted when Dr. Steve came out of Sam's room. They both looked at the doctor questioningly.

"Sam's vitals still look good. We were able to wake him again, and he was responsive. He answered a few questions for me." Steve scratched his bald spot. "Looks like your suspicion was right, Dean. It appears that he has a severe migraine. I'm still not sure what happened in that barn, but, aside from the headache, I think he's gonna be okay. He hasn't responded yet to the DHE—that's an abbreviation for a migraine drug with a ridiculously long name—so I've ordered some Demerol to be added to his IV to see if that helps. If he starts responding to the DHE and all goes well, he can go home sometime in the morning."

Dean nodded, and TJ felt some of her tension ease.

Once Steve was gone, Dean heaved himself away from the wall, standing up straight. "I'm gonna stay with Sam," he said tiredly. "Why don't you go back to the farm...or your little _friend_? Your dad can come get us in the morning when they release Sam."

"No," she said defiantly. "I want to stay with Sam."

Dean shook his head, and when he spoke, his tone was acerbic. "Too little, too late, sweetheart." He turned and put his hand on the door handle.

TJ put a hand on his arm, stopping him. She could feel the muscles in his arm tense, could feel his barely-restrained animosity. "Please, Dean." Her voice was the perfect balance of polite, steely calm and determined Kentucky backbone. She wasn't about to back down, no matter how formidable Sam's brother was. "I want to stay with him. Let me stay."

He still looked angry and distrustful.

She glanced down, struck by the true meaning of what she was about to say. When her eyes found Dean's again, she felt a surge of emotion that caused her chest to constrict, but she made her voice strong. "He's my husband."

Dean was utterly still for a moment, gaze locked obstinately with hers, his expression grim. He seemed to be debating what he should do. Finally, he released the door handle and raised his hand, jabbing his fingers at her. "If there's anything—anything at all—you call me."

It wasn't a request. It was a demand. But she'd won the battle.

**XXXXXXXX**

Once Dean was gone, TJ slipped quietly into Sam's room, careful not to make any noise that might wake him. In the end, Dean's protectiveness of Sam had won out over his anger with her, and he'd given her a litany of instructions about how she needed to be careful because Sam's migraine would make him sensitive to noise and light, and he might wake up nauseated.

The thought of how angry Dean had been with her made her cringe. She had a lot to prove to him, but the fact that he'd relented and let her stay with Sam was a start. Dean had seemed to like her until the whole hugging Jeremy thing, and she hoped he would eventually soften toward her and they could be friends. She knew one thing: She would gladly spend the rest of her life showing him how she felt about Sam.

Sam's room was almost dark. Only the faint glow from a very dim floor light and a silent heart monitor gave off any illumination. It took TJ's eyes a split second to adjust, and then she saw the outline of the sleep chair near Sam's bed that Dean had mentioned. She made her way to Sam.

The head of his bed was slightly raised, and her eyes traveled to his face. His brow was smooth and he looked peaceful. She hoped that meant the medications were kicking in and he wasn't in pain. There was a shadow of stubble on his jaw, and she ran her fingers along its scratchiness with a feather-light touch. He was completely out and didn't stir. Her heart filled to overflowing with a powerful emotion—okay, love—that made her eyes water and her throat constrict.

She leaned over and kissed his forehead, lingering there far longer than was necessary and breathing in the musky, spicy scent of him. She thought of everything that had happened—the revelation of his strange, scary past; the terror of Liv trying to hurt the twins; Sam's strength and heroism, not only in saving the twins but in the way he lived his life every day—and she knew her mother had been right all those weeks ago when TJ first came home from the hospital. This amazing, beautiful man and the two babies he'd created with her were TJ's whole world, and she would never take them for granted or want any other life ever again.

So what if demons, ghosts, and monsters were real? So what if Sam thought he was cursed, that he thought he was dangerous? At least he knew more about what went bump in the night than the average Joe and would be better equipped to protect his family from it. Besides, if she'd learned one thing in the past twenty-four hours, it was that nothing in life was guaranteed. Danger could come from the most unexpected places—even from her own backyard—and it didn't have to be a supernatural creature to be her worst nightmare.

She brushed a few strands of Sam's soft hair away from his face and kissed his cheek. She wanted to know him again, to feel and rediscover every inch of him. She glided her fingers over the smooth skin of his arm, over the hospital ID bracelet that somehow managed to make his wrist look unmistakably masculine, and down to his hand. Then she laced her fingers with his and squeezed gently, reassured by his warmth.

Her gaze scanned over the rest of him. On his other hand, there was a pulse ox clip on his middle finger that led to the monitor she'd noticed earlier and an IV line that wound its way up from his arm to a clear bag of fluid hanging from an IV pole. Beneath the blanket that covered him almost to his chest, she could see lumps of pillows under his hips and legs and was glad someone had taken precautions to protect his skin.

Satisfied he seemed to be okay, she sat down in the sleep chair and kicked off the flats she'd worn to the birthday party, preparing to camp out for the night. Someone had brought in an extra pillow and blanket for the chair, and she punched the too-puffy pillow, sank her head onto it, and covered herself, squirming and trying to find a comfortable position. It was futile.

She sat up and peered at Sam. He was long and massive, taking up the whole bed, but he looked comfy and inviting on his nest of pillows. Despite the blanket covering her, she felt chilled and knew Sam's body would be warm—not to mention his shoulder would make a good place to lay her head.

She hesitated, eyeing him closely, and decided she could squeeze in if she angled her body just right. She pulled back the covers and eased into bed with him on the side where he wasn't hooked to anything. Snuggling against him, she pulled the covers back over both of them and lay her head on his shoulder.

His breath hitched faintly, but he didn't wake.

She let out a long sigh. Sam's body was way more comfy than the sleep chair.

The horrors of the day began to fade away and were replaced by a contented exhaustion. For the first time since she'd woken from the coma, she no longer felt lost. She was finally where she belonged.

**XXXXXXXX**

He woke with a start, his heart beating double-time. Something was wrong with his right arm, and he felt panicky. He couldn't feel it or move it. In fact, his chest felt weird, too, like something heavy was on it, and there was something wrong with his stomach, like something was jabbing into it. He was reluctant to open his eyes, although the pounding in his head had relented somewhat. He had the groggy, loopy feeling he was on a heavy-duty painkiller.

He groped with his left hand and felt his chest. There was something hairy there, and it wasn't his chest hair. Actually, it was hair from a head.

He chanced opening his eyes. The pain wasn't bad—well, it wasn't _as_ bad—and he blinked a few times to clear his vision and adjust to the near-dark room.

The next question was: Who did the head belong to? Obviously, it wasn't Dean. The hair was much too long. He slid his hand down the silky strands and found a shoulder and then an arm. The thing gouging his stomach was an elbow, and he realized there was a hand over his heart. He rubbed the back of the hand and recognized the soft skin. He would know the feel of it anywhere.

"TJ?" he croaked out.

She didn't move. She slept like the dead when she was really tired.

"TJ, wake up." At least his tongue was working better and didn't feel so clunky, although he had to pry it from the roof of his mouth. He would kill for a drink of water.

She moaned faintly and then sighed.

He brushed his fingers through her hair, careful not to get the pulse ox clip on his finger tangled in it. Her hair was so smooth and fine. He'd never understood why she was so scornful of it. "TJ, I need you to wake up." He'd tried to speak louder, but his voice was hoarse.

TJ moaned again and her hand moved, rubbing lightly over his heart. Sam drew in a deep breath. He could smell her familiar minty, floral scent and closed his eyes, savoring it. If it weren't for the fact that he couldn't feel his arm, he would have stayed like that forever, content to feel her body so close.

He shook her shoulder. "Wake up, Teej."

"Hmm?"

"Wake...up," he said succinctly.

"Sam?" she said sleepily. "What's wrong?"

"Ah," he grunted with a wince. "TJ, I can't feel my right arm. I need you to get up."

She jolted awake and shot up, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Oh, my Lord, Sam." Her voice was all sleepy, Kentucky drawl. "I'm so sorry." She grabbed his right hand and started massaging it.

The instant she'd gotten up, he started to feel the blood flow into his arm again, and he felt the first tingling feelings of the nerves waking up. He could feel her kneading his hand and arm, and he flexed his fingers. He was relieved. The numbness had been way too close to what the paralyzed part of his body felt like—or _didn't_ feel like.

"I'm so sorry," she repeated, distress in her voice. She was still massaging.

"It's okay. It was just asleep." The tingling was more intense as more and more feeling came back into his arm and hand. He let her massage it for another minute, and then he gently wrapped his fingers around her wrist.

"Better?" she asked.

"Yeah. It's okay." He tried to see her expression, but her face was in shadow. He let his hand slip down to hers and gave it a reassuring squeeze, liking the weight of her hand in his.

He wanted to see her, so he decided to chance turning on a light. With his free hand, he hit the glowing picture of a light bulb on the panel of his bed, and a dim florescent hummed and brightened behind him. He squinted a bit, but the pain the light caused was tolerable.

She squinted too as the sudden light shone in her eyes. She rubbed them with her fingers and blinked her long lashes a few times.

"What time is it?" asked Sam.

She kept her hand in his but reached with her other to grab his cell phone off of the bedside table. "3:21 a.m." Her voice was still husky with sleep, and her hair was disheveled.

She looked vulnerable and kissable. Sam wanted to trace the freckles on the top of her nose and cheeks with his finger, but he didn't think she would appreciate it. He cleared his throat, trying to clear it of its hoarseness. "What—what are you doing here?"

She poked her tongue in her cheek, her mouth quirking. "Um, sleeping?"

He almost smiled. "Where's Dean?"

"He went back to the farm. He was exhausted and kind of pissy—mostly at me," she said ruefully.

"Why do you say that?"

"Just remind me never to get on his bad side," she said vaguely, glancing away.

Sam knew there was more to the story. He could imagine what Dean's mood might have been like if he'd seen TJ with Jeremy. Dean's wrath wouldn't have been pretty.

She changed the subject. "Either Dean or my dad will come pick us up in the morning when we spring you from here."

Sam sighed, feeling a wave of grogginess. "So you got babysitting duty?"

"Yeah. Can I get you anything? How you feelin'?"

"Fine."

"It's a sin to lie," she drawled wryly.

"I'm okay. They got me on the good stuff."

"You sure you don't want some water or something?"

He closed his eyes for a second. "Yeah. Water would be good."

She poured him some water from the pitcher on the nearby overbed table, and the lukewarm liquid felt good sliding down his throat. When he was done, he handed her the cup, which she set on the nightstand.

He watched her for a second, feeling a little self-conscious of all the stuff he was hooked up to—namely, the urine collection bag hanging on the other side of the bed. He wondered if she'd seen it and then told himself to get over it. It was just science.

"You didn't have to stay," he said.

She took his hand again. "I know. I wanted to."

She sounded sincere, but he was afraid to get his hopes up. He wanted to drift back to sleep with the warmth and softness of her hand soothing him and pretend that everything was okay between them, but unwelcome thoughts of her with Jeremy intruded. He opened his eyes and tried to keep his expression neutral and the derision from his tone. "How's Jeremy?"

She tilted her head. "Are you being facetious, or do you really want to know?"

He thought about it before answering. "Both."

One side of her mouth curved upward in amusement. She didn't answer right away, and he didn't push her. He shouldn't have mentioned Jeremy. Talk of Jeremy would lead to talk of Liv, and talk of Liv would lead to talk of what had happened and Sam's disturbing display of demon power.

TJ stared at their intertwined hands for a moment and then seemed to come to some sort of decision, like it was time to clear the air. She lifted her brown eyes to his with a strange kind of resolve. "First of all, nothing happened between Jeremy and me when I went over there last night. I spent the night in his guestroom—alone."

Sam kept his expression impassive, but a knot deep inside him began to uncoil just a little.

"As for Jeremy, he's how you'd expect. He's upset about his mom and really sorry for all the trouble she caused. He was horrified by what she did and felt guilty about it."

"Guilty?"

"Yeah. He knew she was getting more unstable, but he was in denial. He feels bad that he didn't have her committed months ago."

Sam didn't know what to say to that. On the one hand, if Jeremy really had known how dangerous his mother was, it made Sam angry that Jeremy had sat by and done nothing.

On the other hand, deep down, Sam knew Jeremy couldn't have foreseen what Liv did with the twins. No one could have—not even Sam, with the warning his vision gave him. Sam had known the twins were in danger, but despite the precautions he took, Liv had still stolen them from under his nose in broad daylight. It never occurred to him the twins might be in danger from a human.

Then there was the fact that Liv was Jeremy's mother—his family. If Dean suddenly went crazy, Sam wouldn't want to have his brother committed either. There was no way he could ever do such a thing, unless it was absolutely the last resort.

"Liv has a concussion," TJ went on, "but she'll be fine—physically, at least." There was a sad, faraway expression on her face. "They're moving her to a psychiatric facility in Lexington. She'll be under lock and key."

Sam had no love for Jeremy or Liv, but he knew how painful all this must be for TJ. She'd been close to them, whether Sam liked it or not. "I'm sorry," he said.

Her eyes traveled back to him. "Thanks. I know it must be hard for you to have any sympathy for her, but Liv was a good person and a good mother to Jeremy."

"It's okay, TJ. You don't have to explain. I understand." He'd seen his share of good people do bad things for whatever reason—demon possession, ghost possession, mental illness. It was nothing new to him. Hell, Sam himself had once shot Dean full of rock salt in an abandoned insane asylum because a ghost had screwed with his mind. The only reason he hadn't killed Dean was because the handgun Dean handed him wasn't loaded.

TJ held Sam's gaze for a long moment. "You really do understand, don't you?"

"I've seen a lot of things."

"Because of the hunting," she ventured.

He nodded, feeling uneasy.

She frowned, her brow knitting together. There was suddenly a gigantic elephant in the room neither of them wanted to acknowledge, and its name was Demon Blood.

Sam could almost hear the seconds ticking by, so heavy was the silence. The oppressiveness of it suffocated him, and he finally gave in and spoke, his voice barely audible. "So, I guess there's no doubt that my blood is still...tainted."

She didn't say anything, just glanced down at their hands again.

He cleared his throat nervously. "Are you—are you afraid of me?"

She looked up at him then, her face inscrutable. "You've asked me that before."

"You never answered me."

"You answered for me," she countered. "You told me I should be afraid."

"Yeah," he said quietly. "You should be."

"You told me I should take the twins and run as far away from you as I could get."

"It was good advice," he said, swallowing a lump of self-loathing. "I'm a freak, TJ—an abomination. Everyone close to me gets hurt or dies. Look what happened to you."

Moisture welled in her eyes, but her voice was strong. "That's not true, and it wasn't your fault."

"You can never be sure of that." He thought of Robby and Sami Joy and felt queasy. "The twins—you know the score, TJ. They could be like me. Maybe they're tainted too. Maybe their demon blood made you sick."

A tear spilled onto her cheek, and she wiped it away, shaking her head. "No. I don't believe that."

He huffed a bitter laugh and was suddenly angry at the unfairness of it all. He was cursed with demon blood—maybe his innocent children too, no matter how much he wanted to deny the possibility—and nothing would ever change that. Why him? Because he'd been raised a hunter? Yeah, he had. And so had other hunters like him. Why was he so fucking lucky?

He turned his fury on her. "Why aren't you with Jeremy right now? He's everything you want, TJ. You don't have to be afraid with him. You can have _normal_ with him."

She seemed unfazed by his anger. "Maybe I don't want normal."

She'd said it so softly and gently that it gave him pause. He wasn't even sure he'd heard her right. "Why would you want to be with me? You saw it for yourself, the evil that was unleashed from me."

"How could what you did be evil?" Her tone was incredulous.

He shook his head. "It's not what I did. It's what's _in_ me."

She stared at him pensively for a moment. "Sam, do you know the law of conservation of energy?"

It was a strange question. "What does that have to do with anything?" he asked, frowning.

"Do you know it?" she persisted.

He slogged through his foggy brain for the answer. "Is that the one they teach in high school physics that says the amount of energy on Earth is finite, that the total amount of energy in an isolated system remains constant over time?"

She smirked, merriment in her large brown eyes. "That would be the one. Have mercy. And I thought I was a nerd."

Despite his dark mood, he felt a faint urge to smile.

She nodded. "In other words, it means energy can change its location or form—like changing chemical energy to kinetic energy—but the energy itself can't be created or destroyed."

"I don't get what that has to do with having demon blood in me or its power."

"Well, what if that demon mojo isn't really _demon_ mojo? What if there's only so much magic or whatever in the universe? What if Heaven and Hell or The Powers That Be or whoever—what if they all draw their power from the same source, and it's constant? What if it's like energy, and it can't be created or destroyed, only manipulated?"

He was skeptical. "I see what you're saying, but why would that matter?"

"Because maybe the power itself isn't evil. Maybe it's the person or thing that wields the power that makes it good or evil. The way I see it, you've only used your gift for good, to try to save people. Surely that wasn't what the demon intended."

Sam let that soak in.

"He couldn't control it once it was in you, Sam," she said with intensity, "and he couldn't control _you_."

Sam felt a twinge of hope, but he was afraid to let it grow, afraid of what the fates might do to him for daring to think maybe TJ was right.

"Sam, you saved Sami Joy and Robby. You were the only one who could." Her features turned anguished. "My God. I don't even want to think about what would have happened if you hadn't...done your thing."

He hesitated. "Maybe. But...there's a darkness in me, TJ. And what good was the vision part of my _gift_?" he asked bitterly. "Liv stole the twins in broad daylight right out from under me, and I didn't even know it."

She rolled her eyes and then gave a short laugh. "Would you shut up? You'd make a horrible salesman, you know that? You're not very good at this wooing stuff. You're supposed to downplay your faults and play up your strengths."

He glanced down, feeling that hope he'd felt earlier start to burn brighter. What was she saying? Did she really want him to "woo" her?

"Besides," she said, "if you hadn't been hungover because _I_ was acting like such a stubborn child, you probably would have noticed something was up. And Dean knocking at the front door distracted you more."

"Nice spin you put on it."

"It's not spin, Sam. It's the truth. Why are you so hard on yourself?"

"Years of practice."

She shook her head, her mouth pursed reprovingly. "It's not like you walk around zapping people all the time with your diabolical power." She gestured at the hospital bed. "Whatever you did to Liv, it hurt you worse than it did her."

His headache flared at the reminder, and he tried not to wince.

They were quiet for a minute, like they both had things they wanted to say but weren't sure how to say them. Finally, she was the first to speak, her tone sounding curious. "So, have you ever heard of a movie called _Wings of Desire_?"

He swallowed hard, his heartbeat quickening.

She looked down, suddenly preoccupied with her fingernails. "It probably doesn't mean anything. It's an old German film with this weird song—"

"I know."

Her head came up and she met his eyes with surprise. "You do?"

He nodded. "You and I saw it the first time we ever went on a date. Well, sort of a date. We were just friends. You took me out to thank me for tutoring you for a Latin test that you aced."

"Does 'lecturum te ad 5:00' mean anything to you?"

"'Picking you up at 5:00,'" he translated, unable to keep a grin from spreading across his face. "That's what you texted me after you found out what you made on your test. You were being a smartass, letting me know that we had a date. I'd told you I wouldn't go out unless you made a perfect score on the test."

"Oh," she said.

"Do you remember more Latin?"

She shook her head. "No."

He nodded, trying not to look too deflated. He'd felt a flicker of hope. TJ's neurologist had told them that sometimes, with the type of retrograde amnesia she had, fact memory was affected to a lesser degree than autobiographical memory. She might be able to remember impersonal or procedural things better than things that were personal or abstract. She did remember most procedural skills—except for how to tie her shoes and a few other small items like that.

She paused, thoughtful. "So, this movie...was it—did I _like_ the movie?"

He was amused at the doubt in her voice. "Uh, no. You told me you'd rather stick a fork in your eye than see it again."

She made a noise that was somewhere between a snort and a chuckle. "Why did we go see it, then?"

"I think you were being nice. You chose it because you thought it was something I would appreciate."

"Oh." She studied his face. "I must have really liked you."

His faint smile was bittersweet. "I think you did."

"Did you like it—the movie?"

"I did. Very much."

Her mouth curved enigmatically. "Good." Then, after a beat, she frowned again, like she was trying to remember. "Did we eat somewhere that had dinner rolls?"

"Yes. We ate at an Italian restaurant afterward." His heart was thumping now, and he took her hand and squeezed it. "What else do you remember?"

She shrugged. "That's pretty much it. Just, you know, the Latin; the name of the movie rings a bell; and I remember dinner rolls." She bowed her head. "It's not much. I know."

It was everything. Even if it was all she ever remembered, it was something—a little piece of their past together that hadn't been totally erased. He felt a surge of emotion and clenched his jaw, fighting a lump in his throat. Cupping her chin with his fingers, he raised her face so she would look at him. "You've remembered other things, haven't you?" He wasn't asking. He knew.

"I...guess. Sometimes it's just a feeling. Sometimes it's a lightning flash, a fleeting vision of something. They're so quick that half the time I'm not sure there's really any meaning to them. It's more like déjà vu. It's just enough to frustrate me and make me wonder."

"Next time, tell me, TJ. I'll help you remember."

She nodded and pressed her lips together, but he couldn't tell what thought or emotion she was suppressing.

"You know," she said, "a lot of times these feelings or memories or whatever you wanna call them—they get triggered by things like smells or music or things people say."

"Yeah?"

Her expression was serious, but there was a hint of mischief just under the surface. "Yeah. I wonder what would happen if, you know, we kissed."

His heart swelled with love for her, and he grinned. "I don't know. Maybe we should find out."

"I have bad breath," she warned, a teasing light in her eye. "I haven't brushed my teeth since yesterday morning."

"That's okay. I haven't either—and I threw up earlier."

Her freckles crinkled playfully and she laughed. He drank in the sound of it.

"Barf breath? Ew," she said.

"I know."

"I can top that. When I brushed my teeth yesterday morning, I used one of Jeremy's toothbrushes."

He tilted his head, slanting her a stern look. "That's a major cockblocker for me."

She arched a brow, unrepentant. "I wish it had been your toothbrush," she drawled, soft and sultry.

His mouth went dry and he felt a surge of heat. "Such a way with words, TJ."

She smiled, biting her lip, and then tried to be serious again, although her mouth still twitched with humor. "Okay. I'm ready if you are."

"I've been ready for this since January 1st," he said quietly, referring to the day she went into the coma.

She drew in a breath and seemed frozen for a split second—except for the moisture that welled in her eyes. She leaned in closer to him, swallowing tightly. "Have mercy. You are so..." She shook her head in amazement.

"I'm so what?" he asked, his heart pounding.

"I think Jeremy was right." Her mouth was slowly getting closer and closer to his.

"I don't want to know what Jeremy thinks."

"You might want to know this," she challenged.

Sam was wary, but he could smell her hair and skin and feel the warmth of her breath (which, by the way, didn't smell too bad after all), and the effect was electrifying. "Fine. What does Jeremy think?"

"That I'm falling in love with you." She paused for a beat and then added with a smile of wonder, "Again."

Sam's blood soared through his body, and he was filled with a joy that made him want to triumphantly flip the bird at Jeremy Suggs, the fates, the Winchester curse, and all the fucking demons in hell.

She kissed him then, her lips nudging his, tentative at first but then more demanding, until her tongue flicked over his lips and his teeth. He couldn't hold back and opened his mouth to her, feeling the warm, firm moistness of her tongue as it explored his mouth. She curled her hands around the back of his neck, brushing her thumbs lightly over the hair at his nape.

He ran his fingers through her hair, holding her to him. His body was on fire, every cell burning and longing for her, and the kiss became searing and urgent. He was making up for every agonizing moment in the past seven months that he'd wanted to kiss her, to touch her, to hold her, to make love to her. He poured his soul into kissing her, and she responded, giving him her soul in return.

He ran his tongue over her teeth and mingled with her tongue, then sucked as if he could devour her. It had to be the longest, hottest, most passionate kiss in human history, and when they finally broke apart, they were both breathless.

"So," he said, panting, "did you remember anything?"

"No," she said, but there was no disappointment in her breathy voice or the cheeky grin she was giving him. "Nothing."

"Oh." He hadn't really expected her to remember, but a small part of him had still hoped for a miracle. "I think it cured my headache," he noted.

She laughed, her dark eyes flirty and filled with warmth. "We could always try again," she drawled.

Sam was suddenly overwhelmed with need for her, and he found it hard to speak. He took her face in his hands and locked eyes with her, feeling a fierce, overwhelming emotion that made his chest feel tight with the expansion of his heart. "I love you, TJ."

She grabbed the front of his hospital gown with both hands and leaned in, brushing her lips over his. "Shut up and kiss me, Sam Winchester."

He was happy to oblige.

_**TBC**_

_**A/N: This is not the end, kids. Part 3 begins next week and will be around five or six chapters, so stay tuned...  
**_


	29. Chapter 29

**_A/N: I know this is going to shock you, but I'm going to thank my betas! Thank you skzb, Cartersdaughter, and Catsluver! (Add a million exclamation points behind this because fan fiction won't let me. It erases all the extras.)  
_**

* * *

**PART 3**

**LESSONS IN JOY**

* * *

**Chapter 29**

They were halfway through the flight back to Kentucky, and Sam was finally able to release some of the tension in his body. Traveling with two five-and-a-half-month-old babies wasn't easy, even with assistance from the airport staff to help TJ and Sam carry everything and to help accommodate Sam's disability. Then the twins had been cranky on the flight, probably because the pressurized cabin did weird things to their little ears, even though they'd both had bottles to nurse during take-off.

A few minutes ago, Sami Joy had finally fallen asleep in the crook of Sam's arm, and it looked like Robby, who was snuggled on TJ's shoulder, was about to do the same. Sam exhaled a long breath, letting his head fall back against the headrest of the airplane seat.

After all the fallout in August from the kidnapping and TJ witnessing Sam's freaky demon power, life had returned to a semblance of normal—well, normal for the Winchesters. TJ joked that things were going in reverse. She was starting out married, then falling in love with her husband, then getting to know him.

It was now October, and TJ and Sam had taken the twins to San Diego for Gretchen and Ralph's wedding. They'd stayed for a full week, visiting with Dean and Heather and letting TJ see what her life had been like in California. The rocky start she'd gotten off to with Dean while Sam was in the hospital hadn't lasted. It hadn't taken Dean long to soften toward TJ once he saw she was for real and there was no doubt she loved Sam. Dean and TJ had fallen back into an easy, bantering relationship much like when they'd worked together at Shorty's.

While TJ, Sam, and the babies were in California, Fern and Vern were having the hardwood floors refinished in the farmhouse so the twins, who would be crawling soon, would have a floor that was splinter-free and smooth for their baby-soft hands and knees.

For TJ, seeing Heather, Gretchen, Ralph, and other old friends from college hadn't triggered any memories, but she was still TJ. She made friends easily, and she and Gretchen hit it off just like they had when they'd met TJ's freshman year in the dorms. TJ was a bridesmaid in Gretchen's wedding, even though TJ had only known Gretchen a week.

Sam was secretly glad TJ didn't have any memories of Ralph.

The only damper on the trip was that TJ refused to visit the SDSU campus or meet with Dr. Rostom, her old mentor and professor. Sam had pointed out that she never knew when something might trigger a memory. TJ had hedged and said they didn't have enough time, that she would rather take the twins to the San Diego Zoo. Dean and Heather (who'd called a truce and weren't fighting about hunting at the time) had gone with them.

The zoo was an experience—an exhausting but fun day of juggling two babies who had definite likes and dislikes and distinct personalities of their own. It was four adults against Robby and Sami Joy with all their baby paraphernalia, but the adults were definitely the ones the worse for wear at the end of the day. At least the zoo was accessible for wheelchair users and was fairly easy for Sam to get around.

TJ's resistance to anything related to her schooling was troubling. Every time Sam brought it up, she changed the subject or distracted him in other ways she knew he couldn't resist—namely, kissing him in that place just under his earlobe that always made him forget whatever he'd been doing or thinking about the second before.

College was a painful subject for her, and as much as Sam wanted TJ to pursue her dream, he didn't push her on it. She was seeing a counselor, both for the eating disorder and dealing with the amnesia, and Sam hoped eventually she would come around and give school another try. Fern and Vern were a different story, wanting to, as Vern put it, "light a fire under her ass," but Sam talked them into giving her time, just like he had when she'd been so resistant to him and the twins.

TJ was resilient and smart, and Sam was proud of how far she'd come in just the few months since she woke from the coma. She'd bonded with the twins and was an excellent mother. It hadn't taken her long to learn how to take care of them once she set her mind to it, and she handled them like a pro.

Last night, since it was TJ, Sam, and the twins' last evening in San Diego, they'd all gone with Dean and Heather to eat dinner at Shorty's for old times' sake. Irony of all ironies, Chanel (as in Coco), the girl who'd hit on Sam the first night he ever really talked to TJ, was their waitress.

Sam, Dean, and Heather all immediately tensed as Chanel approached the table. She hadn't changed much. She still had long dark hair, a petite body, and a haughty bearing.

TJ was fussing over Sami Joy, who was in a highchair making a huge mess, blowing raspberries of baby food at her mother. Orange clumps of baby food that vaguely resembled carrots were all over Sami Joy's face and TJ, and TJ was trying to get them both cleaned up. Between Sami Joy and Robby, TJ and Sam had already gone through an entire roll of the brown paper towels provided at the table. Needless to say, TJ paid no attention to Chanel.

Sam wondered why Chanel was working there. She'd seemed so snobby when he'd met her two years ago, like Shorty's would be beneath her. It didn't seem like the kind of place where she would choose to get a job. Then again, karma could be a bitch.

Chanel surveyed the table, her clear-blue eyes resting flirtatiously for a second on Sam. If she recognized him, she gave no indication. When she noticed his wheelchair, however, her gaze cooled instantly and she glanced away. Sam would have rolled his eyes if she'd been worth the effort.

She looked next at Dean and Heather. "Well, well, you two. It's been awhile."

Dean and Heather's faint smiles were cautious and wary. "Hey, Chanel. How's it going?" said Dean.

"Hi, Chanel," echoed Heather. Neither of their greetings held any real warmth.

Chanel didn't bother to answer them and eyed TJ with disdain. "Well, and if it's not Nelly Nelek." The way she said TJ's name dripped with sarcasm.

TJ was wiping the last of a spray of carrots from the front of the orange top she was wearing and didn't seem to hear Chanel. She added the paper towel in her hand to the pile in the center of the table in defeat, then gave a shrug and an oh-well smile to Sam. "At least my shirt is sort of carrot-colored, so it all blends in."

"Right," he said, smiling back.

"I said hello, _Nelly_." Chanel spoke as if TJ should drop everything and pay homage.

TJ turned, finally noticing her. She looked Chanel up and down and then arched a brow. "Excuse me?" TJ said in a cool drawl only Southerners—or in her case, Kentuckians—could manage; an aloofness that cut its victim with the very nature of its politeness. "Do we know each other?"

That wasn't like TJ. If she met someone who obviously knew her that she didn't remember, she usually gave them a short explanation of her memory loss and apologized for not recognizing them.

Chanel huffed snottily. "Of course you know me. Like you could forget _me, _Chanel Lancaster. We went to school together. We lived on the same floor in the dorms freshman year."

TJ studied Chanel with a blank expression that was genuine. "No. I'm sorry. Doesn't ring a bell."

The look of disbelief on Chanel's face was priceless. She stared at TJ, seemingly at a loss for words, and when she finally took everyone's orders, she was discombobulated and a little chastened. As she was about to walk away, TJ said, "Oh, excuse me? Chanel, right?"

Chanel huffed and rolled her eyes.

TJ gathered the pile of wadded-up, baby-food-soaked paper towels. "Would you mind throwing these away for us?"

Chanel wrinkled her nose, clearly thinking such action was beneath her, and gave TJ a dirty look.

TJ gave her an overly sweet smile. "Thanks so much."

Chanel grudgingly took the soiled pile TJ handed to her. After she was gone, everyone exchanged looks.

"Have mercy," said TJ, rattling a set of colorful plastic keys in front of Sami Joy. "What was her problem?"

Dean raised his brows and Heather was grinning. Sam smiled. "Uh, you remember the _Grapes of Wrath_ story I told you?"

"Yeah?" replied TJ, a little distracted. Sami Joy was putting one of the keys in her mouth.

"That was the girl. You 'spilled' wine in her face."

TJ paused and looked at Sam. "Oh." Then a slow, impish grin spread across her features.

Now, sitting on the flight to Kentucky, Sam's mouth twitched with humor at the memory. He looked over at TJ, who sat in the seat next to him. She was nuzzling her cheek against Robby, who was finally sound asleep. Maybe it was a good thing TJ had forgotten some of the more painful memories of her life—like the fact Chanel had been such a bitch to her during their college years.

"So, that girl Chanel that was our waitress last night," said TJ, as if reading his mind, "she seemed like a major you-know-what."

"She was. She said a lot of crappy things to you when you were in school with her. I think she was one of the reasons your eating disorder escalated when you were a freshman."

TJ's expression clouded. "Oh." She absently kissed Robby's cheek and grew pensive. "I think I'm glad I don't remember her."

Sam nodded and rolled his shoulders a bit. He wanted to ask TJ how the psychology sessions were going with the eating disorder counselor, but she was always reticent to talk about it.

She'd reluctantly agreed to go after the dust had settled with the whole Liv thing. She went to Lexington once a week to meet with a therapist. Her eating had improved, she'd gained some weight, and she was starting to look more like herself, so Sam guessed the sessions were going well enough.

TJ peered at him from the corner of her eye. "It's going well. The therapy."

There she went again, discerning his thoughts. Sam gave her a small smile. "You a mind reader?"

"I'm sure stranger things have happened," she returned wryly.

"Yeah. Probably have."

She smirked at his understatement and then sobered. "You were right—you and my parents." She was speaking quietly where only Sam could hear. "I was on the verge of something really bad. I probably would have ended up with the eating disorder again. I mean, I guess I have the blueprint in me for it now, but, like y'all said, maybe I've caught it in time and nipped it in the bud."

He was proud of her for admitting that. "So, what about the amnesia? Have you been talking about that stuff, about the depression?"

She smiled, her long lashes and playful freckles captivating him. "_You're_ the cure for my depression."

He felt a little emo at her words and glanced down at Sami Joy. She looked like a little blond angel sleeping in the crook of his arm, a few wispy curls framing her cherubic face.

"I mean," TJ mused, "I can think of worse things than waking up married to a smart, kind, funny, really hot guy."

Sam slanted her a dry look. "Uh, you weren't exactly thrilled, if I recall correctly."

"I can be kind of stubborn."

"You think?"

Her eyes held his for a long moment. "I was so awful to you," she said in her soft drawl. "Thanks for not givin' up on me."

"Never." He leaned in and kissed her lightly and tenderly on the lips. "Thanks for not taking the twins and running for the hills."

She brushed her lips over his. "Never. You're stuck with us."

He felt a surge of love and smiled. "I can think of worse things."

**XXXXXXXX**

A few days after they returned from San Diego, Sam shut down his laptop, pushed himself over to the couch, and transferred so that he was sitting next to TJ. It was late on a Saturday night, and the twins and TJ's parents were asleep. Sam had been working all day on a difficult and involved brief for a client that he needed to have ready by tomorrow afternoon so his client could use it to prepare for trial on Monday. The trip to San Diego had put Sam behind on his work, and he'd hardly come up for air. He was tired, and all he wanted to do was snuggle with TJ and veg.

She was watching their wedding video, volume turned low so she wouldn't distract him. She seemed mesmerized by the video, even though she'd watched it several times in the last few days since they'd gotten back. Gretchen's wedding had triggered an insatiable curiosity in TJ to learn about her own wedding.

Sam put his arm around TJ's shoulders and pulled her to him, kissing the top of her head. "So, how many times have you watched this?"

She shrugged. "I stopped counting at twelve."

The video was at the beginning, where Vern was escorting TJ down the aisle.

"She's so pretty," TJ commented.

"Who? Your mom?"

"No. Other TJ."

Sam drew in a deep breath, let it out slowly, and then cupped her chin with his finger, turning her face so she would look at him. "TJ, that pretty girl is you. There is no Other TJ."

She stared at him intently for a moment and then turned back to the video. TJ was dealing with this duality she felt—this alter ego—with her therapist, but she was far from reconciling that she and "Other TJ" were one and the same. "Your—I mean _our_," she said, correcting herself, "wedding was beautiful." Her voice grew quiet and thick with desperate emotion. "I want to remember so badly."

Sam combed his fingers gently through her auburn-chestnut hair, which was down around her shoulders. "I know," he soothed.

TJ idly laid her palm on his chest, and the warmth of her hand permeated his shirt, heating his skin underneath. She sighed. "I keep thinking that if I watch the video enough times, maybe it'll sink in. Maybe it'll trigger at least a few memories. But there's nothing."

He hugged her tightly to him, and she laid her head on his shoulder. He gave her another kiss, feeling her silky hair tickle his lips and inhaling the flower-and-mint smell of her. "We'll have another wedding," he said. "We'll renew our vows."

A second passed before she answered, "That's sweet, Sam. Maybe we will."

He could tell she was trying to show an interest in his suggestion, but there was a forlorn quality to her voice she couldn't hide. "You don't want another wedding, do you?" He wasn't really asking.

She made a quick swipe at her cheek, sniffed, then shook her head and buried it in his chest.

Sadness flowed into his heart, making his chest feel tight. Sam rested his chin on the crown of her head and wrapped his other arm around her, enveloping her in his body. He couldn't think of any words that would ease her pain and frustration, but he wanted her to know he was there for her.

After a couple more sniffs, TJ seemed more composed and turned her face away from his chest so she could speak. "I want to remember what it felt like to be your bride," she remarked wistfully. "I want to remember what it felt like when you kissed me."

He loosened his embrace and raised her chin again with his hand, looking into her tear-moistened eyes. "Now, that, I can help you with."

Her mouth curved into a half smile. "You can?"

"Uh-huh." He traced her jawline with his fingers and slowly lowered his head, pressing his lips to her mouth, savoring the sensation like he had the day they got married. He took his time, keeping the kiss chaste as he had on that day, showing her how he loved the smell of her, the softness of her lips, and the pure joy he felt at being with her. Moving up to her eyelids, he lightly kissed her long, thick lashes and then the freckles along the bridge of her nose and cheekbones.

"Wow," she said, her voice a bit breathy. "So that's what it was like?"

He smiled. "I might have embellished a little."

"Hmm," she intoned with appreciation. "I think I like the embellishing." She reciprocated his kiss, tender at first but then more demanding. He opened up to her. Her tongue probed his mouth, seeking a response which he gladly gave her. She lightly curled her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, and the wispy feel of her touch caused his blood pressure to skyrocket. Her smallest touch was enough to light an inferno inside him.

He wanted to take control, to undress her and consume her, but instead he broke away, almost shaking with sudden need. He ran a hand absently through his hair. "You're gonna kill me, Teej." He was only half joking.

They hadn't had sex yet because, for TJ, they'd only been "dating" for two months; but it was getting harder and harder for Sam to restrain himself. TJ's favorite pastime these days seemed to be kissing him, and his testosterone was on overdrive.

"I'm sorry," she said, even as she traced her finger over his collarbone, causing his overly sensitive nerves to tingle with sweet, tantalizing pleasure. She seemed to be genuinely unaware of what her touch was doing to him.

He grabbed her finger, stilling its motion, and smiled ruefully. "That's not helping any."

Her eyes widened as she clued in. "Oh!"

He lifted her finger to his lips and kissed it.

"I really am sorry, Sam. I know it's dumb. I don't know why I'm keeping you waiting for, you know..._that._" She glanced down, blushing. "I mean, we're married and we love each other. We have kids together, for God's sake. I don't know what's wrong with me."

He sighed, kicking himself for making her feel bad. "There's nothing wrong with you. It's okay, TJ. It's all new to you. I know that. It's okay if you need more time. I want you to be certain you're ready."

She searched his face for a moment, and then she gave him a soft peck on the lips. "Thank you," she whispered.

"I love you."

"I love you." After planting one more kiss on his mouth, TJ settled back down in her usual spot, head on his shoulder. They watched the rest of the video to the end, where she and Sam were showing off their wedding rings. She rose up and looked at him, one brow arched. "Still not gonna tell me?" She fingered the gold wedding band on his left hand meaningfully.

He smirked. "Uh-uh."

She rolled her eyes before nestling into him again, and he chuckled. She'd been asking relentlessly about how he'd proposed to her and where her wedding rings were, but no matter how persuasive she got, he wouldn't tell her. He had a plan, and he'd sworn Fern, Vern, and everyone else who might be in the know to secrecy.

Maybe there were some memories that weren't lost to TJ after all.

**XXXXXXXX**

TJ was ready. She was nervous, but she was ready. Today was her first wedding anniversary—November 27th—two days after Thanksgiving.

She smiled to herself, her heart doing its flippy thing just thinking about Sam. She was in love with her husband. She was head-over-heels, besotted-gaga-nuts over him. It was amazing how quickly she'd fallen for him. Then again, maybe it wasn't so amazing. Maybe her soul had remembered him all along, if not her brain. Her body dang sure remembered him. She craved him, despite her insecurities.

There was no doubt in her mind Sam loved her too. She was sure of it and knew there would be no repeat of her first time with Jeremy. But still, she was nervous.

She knew what to expect. She and Sam had talked about it—about sex. They'd experimented a little, but she always held back, never going further than hot, passionate kissing. She'd really only known him a little over three months, but that wasn't the reason she was reticent. It was more the fact that she was so unsure of herself.

He'd explained how his body worked, how his nerves that still had sensation had sort of rerouted themselves and how he could still get intense pleasure from sex, even if it wasn't in the traditional way. She was worried that she wouldn't be able to please him like she had before. She was sure Other TJ had been more confident, more mature—more daring. She envied Other TJ for her experience and felt like a naïve schoolgirl. She pretty much _was_ a naïve schoolgirl.

She finished slicing the onions, added them to the pile of other vegetables she'd chopped, and poured a generous-sized puddle of oil in the wok so it could begin heating. She was in the kitchen, fixing her man some dinner.

Sam had gone to Lexington for the day to do research. It seemed he never really got a whole day off, not even on the weekends. He'd felt bad for leaving her on their anniversary, but she'd assured him she understood. He had a project he was working on that a client needed as soon as possible. It seemed his clients were always in a rush. They never said, "Don't worry, Sam. Take however long you need." It was always, "Sorry, Sam. Can you get it to us, like, yesterday?" She supposed it was good that he had so many clients, but she worried that he worked too hard.

Oblivious to what TJ was literally cooking up for him, Sam had promised her before he left this morning that he would take her out to dinner for their anniversary when he got back. She wondered if he would tell her tonight how he'd proposed. Maybe he'd finally give her wedding rings back to her.

To her frustration, no one would tell her how he'd proposed—not her parents, not Dean, not Heather, not Gretchen, not Ralph, not even Bobby. TJ had called Bobby and enjoyed talking with him. He'd been funny and down-to-earth, telling her lots of stories about Sam as a kid, but he wouldn't tell her how Sam proposed. She was more curious than ever to know what Sam was planning. It was taking him a long time to reveal it, whatever it was.

She smiled to herself. Sam wasn't the only one who could enlist the help of her parents for subterfuge. As soon as he'd pulled out of the driveway to head off to Lexington, her parents had packed up the twins (no small feat with all the stuff they had to take with them) and taken the babies to visit Aunt Joyce in Colleyville for the rest of the weekend. TJ and Sam would have the farmhouse to themselves until tomorrow afternoon.

Recently, TJ had talked with her mother. It had been a long discussion, a sort of revised version of the birds-and-the-bees talk. Fern had been reassuring and supportive, and TJ felt a little more confident afterward. As Fern had walked out the door this morning, she'd given TJ a knowing wink that caused TJ to blush.

Vern, on the other hand, acted like nothing out of the ordinary was going on and turned a blind eye to the whole affair. He was still in denial that his daughter was planning to have sex, even though it was with her husband and even though Vern was carrying his granddaughter in his arms—the evidence of TJ and Sam's earlier union—as he followed Fern, who was carrying Robby, out the door. TJ smiled, amused at the memory. Vern was still her dad, and she would always be his little girl.

TJ was making one of Sam's favorite dishes. It was her mother's recipe for a simple vegetable-and-tofu stir-fry that didn't tax TJ's very limited cooking skills. The vegetables, tofu, and sauce were ready to go, and the oil was almost hot enough in the wok. She would throw the vegetables and tofu in when Sam got there so it would be fresh. He'd called her a few minutes ago, and she knew he wasn't far away. The butterflies in her stomach started a crazy little dance in anticipation of his arrival.

She took the Minute Rice off the stove and drained the water, then cut the bag, emptied the rice into a large bowl, and fluffed it with a fork. It was brown rice because brown was way healthier than white. She was learning a lot from Sam about healthy eating and found she liked it. She was beginning to appreciate her mother's vegetable garden and all the work Fern and Sam had put into it.

It was early evening, and the sun had just gone down. The days were much shorter now that it was almost December. She tapped her fingers on the counter and watched out the window over the kitchen sink. She was kind of at a standstill with dinner until Sam got there. She'd already set the table for two and lit two elegant, white tapered candles that lent a touch of class to the battered farm table.

Suddenly, the driveway was illuminated by headlights, and she knew it was him. She felt giddy and had to refrain from running out and jumping his bones. He'd only been gone a day, but it seemed longer, and she'd missed him. She occupied herself with throwing the ingredients for the stir-fry into the wok and cleared her throat, trying to appear more mature and composed than she felt.

The contents of the wok smoked and steamed, and she was busy stirring it all as Sam opened the door and rolled in. Rocket, who'd been outside carousing, trotted in ahead of Sam and showed immediate interest in what TJ was cooking.

She eyed Rocket and shook her head. "Uh-uh. Sorry, Bubba. No stir-fry for dogs."

Rocket wagged his tail and reared up, putting his paws on her leg. It wasn't good doggy manners for him to do that, but she rewarded him with a quick scratch between the ears anyway, unable to resist his cute furry beard, pale eyes, and floppy ears. "You still can't have any stir-fry."

She stirred her vegetables, causing them to steam and sizzle, and slanted a look at Sam. His forehead was wrinkled in bemusement, and she almost laughed at his expression.

He was wearing jeans, his usual Converse sneakers, and a simple, dark-blue V-neck pullover with a white T-shirt peeking out of it at the collar. It was clothing appropriate for researching and working in a library all day. His posture was erect and confident as he sat in his chair, his legs even, his feet perfectly tucked onto the footplate. His strong, beautiful hands rested idly on his wheels. His rich brown hair—long and a tad shaggy—accentuated his masculine jawline and dark hazel eyes. His heavy, dark-brown jacket and leather briefcase bag containing his laptop and legal documents were on his lap.

She couldn't wait another minute to kiss him and abandoned her stir-fry for just a second to bend down and plant a welcoming kiss on his lips. She felt an instant charge of electricity just being close to him. "Hi."

The wrinkles in his forehead smoothed out and he smiled. "Hi."

"Happy anniversary."

"Happy anniversary." He paused and cocked his head, like he was listening. "Where is everybody?" he asked, looking up at her. "It's so quiet."

"My parents took the twins to stay with Aunt Joyce tonight." TJ's happiness at seeing Sam was tempered for a moment as she felt a sharp pang of grief. "She gets lonely, you know, since Uncle Joe Mack's gone now."

Sam nodded, his expression sympathetic. TJ knew he'd liked and respected Uncle Joe Mack, and Uncle Joe Mack had liked him, too.

After a moment, Sam said cautiously, "So...we have the house to ourselves?"

She bit her bottom lip coyly. "Uh-huh."

"Really?" A look of wonder spread across his features.

TJ laughed. She couldn't remember a time since she'd come to her senses and realized that the sun rose and set with Sam when they'd been truly alone for any real length of time—no babies to worry about, no parents to overhear what they said to each other or walk in at an inopportune moment. Sam and TJ had been sleeping in separate bedrooms during their "courtship," but she was about to change that tonight. She felt a thrill at the thought.

She was still leaning close to him, and he framed her face in his hands and kissed her. His hands were icy cold, but his lips were warm and inviting. She took one of his hands and kissed his palm. "Your fingers are like icicles."

He raised his brows indifferently, as if it were no big deal, but she knew it was hard for him to warm up and keep his body temperature regulated because of his paralysis. The cold Kentucky mountain autumn was harder on him than the milder temperatures of San Diego. She looked pointedly at his jacket. "For starters, it might help if you actually wore your jacket instead of carrying it on your lap."

He shrugged. "Too much hassle to put it on just to go from the car to the house."

She rolled her eyes. He grinned and hooked his fingers in the belt loops of her jeans, pulling her closer to him. She braced her hands on his shoulders to keep her balance.

"You warm me up better than my jacket," he pointed out, the look in his mossy eyes sending a tingle down her spine.

She smiled and gave him a long kiss, her blood pressure surging as their tongues mingled. He made a noise of appreciation deep in his throat. When she pulled back, he said, "So, you're cooking?"

"Uh-huh," she answered without really thinking. Her eyes were locked with his. She was hypnotized by him.

"I would have taken you out," he reminded her.

"I know, but I wanted to do something special for you."

"You did?" He gave her a pleased smile, flashing his dimples. "What are you cooking?"

"Vegetable-tofu stir-fry."

"Hmm. Uh...I think your stir-fry might need stirring."

"Oh, shit!" She hurried back to the stove and gave the smoking vegetables another stir. They were supposed to be stirred constantly, but two seconds with Sam in the same room with her, and she'd forgotten all about them. Some of the veggies were a bit charred—okay, most of them were—but the dish would still be edible. Maybe.

"Sorry," she said, scrunching her nose. "I hope you don't mind Cajun-style Asian stir-fry."

"Cajun-style Asian?" He sounded wary but amused.

She tossed a rueful look at him over her shoulder. "You know. Kind of blackened."

He chuckled, and she loved the cozy sound of it.

In the end, the stir-fry wasn't edible. Sam had been a gentleman, pretending it tasted good and even eating a few bites before TJ took pity on him and whisked his plate away, throwing its contents in the trash. They'd wound up reheating the leftovers from Thanksgiving and putting the rest of the brown rice in the fridge.

Sam helped her clear the table. They put the dishes in the sink to be washed later, and TJ took his hand and gave it a tug. "Come on. I have a surprise for you."

"What is it?"

She tugged again. "Come see. You have to come into the living room."

"Okay. But I have a surprise for you first."

She arched a brow, intrigued. This time, he was the one that tugged on her hand and pulled her onto his lap. He kissed her—long, slow, and tender—and she forgot that anything or anyone else in the world existed but Sam.

"I love you, TJ."

"I love you, too, Sam." She buried her head in the curve of his neck, inhaling the spicy scent of him, and he wrapped his arms around her. They stayed that way for a moment, lost in each other.

Finally, he broke the spell. "Can you reach my jacket?"

He'd hung it over the back of a nearby chair at the table, and she reached for it, stretching until she was able to get a hold of it. His jacket smelled like him and cold weather, and she loved the scent of it. She would have buried her face in the canvas fabric and inhaled like a dog sniffing a tire if Sam hadn't been watching. Have mercy. How had she ever thought she was in love with Jeremy?

Sam took the jacket and rummaged through one of the pockets, his long arms encircling her as he did so. "Oh, here it is." He cleared his throat, and she turned her attention to his face. He was looking down at the gift with a faint frown, and TJ was surprised to realize that he was a little nervous. "So," he said, not meeting her eyes, "it's not diamonds or furs, but I read that the traditional gift for a first anniversary is paper." He shrugged with a hint of apology and handed what looked like a medium-sized notepad to her.

When she inspected it more closely, she saw that it wasn't a notepad but a small journal. The cover of it was silvery-looking leather, and in elegant black lettering, the title read _"The TJ and Sam Chronicles."_ On the inside, little vignettes of their life together from the day they first met at Shorty's to the present day were handwritten in Sam's neat handwriting. She flipped through, scanning the pages and reading some of the entries, tracing the handwriting with her finger and imagining his long, fine fingers holding a pen and creating the script.

He'd included his memories of big things, like their first date, along with little things, like making smoothies together on a Friday night or taking Rocket for walks. There were answers to things she'd wondered about and things that were utterly shocking, like how he'd gotten Rocket and the story behind why Rocket could jump so freakishly high. Her eyes widened and she looked at Sam. "Rocket is part shapeshifter?"

Sam smiled tentatively. "Uh, sort of. That one may take you awhile to read."

"I can't believe I'm just now finding this out."

"Sorry. There's still kind of a lot of stuff you don't know. The Rocket thing just never came up in conversation."

She shook her head in mildly-amused disbelief. Of course Sam's dog wouldn't be just a normal dog. She'd sensed all along there was something different—something special—about Rocket.

"Sam," she said, closing the journal and waving it in amazement, "how long have you been working on this? When did you have time?"

Another modest shrug. "I don't know. I just started jotting down things that I remembered about our life together," he explained. "I've been doing it for a couple of months. I kept it all in a notebook and then organized it chronologically when I got ready to compile it all in the journal. I know it's not much, but—"

"Not much?" she echoed, rolling her eyes. "Lord 'a' mercy, are you serious?"

His mouth twitched. "So...does that mean you like it?"

She held his gaze, her heart brimming with love and appreciation. "Sam, this is the best possible gift you could have given me. It's romantic and thoughtful and—and helpful, and I've never felt more loved or cherished in my whole life. Well," she added, "that I remember."

He chuckled and kissed her. "I'm glad you like it."

She kissed him back. "I love it. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

She held the journal in one hand, stood up from Sam's lap, and took his hand. "Now it's your turn," she said, and he followed her into the living room.

When they were seated on the sofa, she set the journal on the coffee table and kicked off the Ugg house shoes she was wearing. They were the most comfortable, luxurious things ever invented and were, she'd been told, last year's Christmas gift from Sam. She removed his sneakers for him, leaving on his black socks so his feet would stay warm. It made her feel kind of like a housewife from the '50s, like one of those ladies who always had slippers and dinner waiting for her hubby when he came home from work. Surprisingly, she liked the feeling, although she obviously still needed to work on the dinner part. "Okay," she said. "Close your eyes."

He did. She grabbed the DVD she'd wrapped in the comics section of last week's Sunday paper. She'd put the DVD in a shoebox to disguise it better and tied the outside of the package with a big, white, satin bow because she thought it made it look more anniversaryish. She loved using the comics as wrapping paper. It was something her mom had always done since TJ was a kid. They'd never used regular birthday wrapping paper or gift bags. Too boring.

Sitting next to Sam, she set the box in his lap and placed his hands on top of it. "Okay. Open your eyes."

He looked down, his forehead creasing slightly in that way that she loved. "What is it?"

She laughed. "I think the idea is that you're supposed to unwrap it to find out."

"You wrapped it in the comics," he commented, meeting her eyes.

"I know. You like it?"

The intense expression on his handsome face was like a direct line to something quivery and demanding in her abdomen. "Yes, I like it," he said. "You used to always do that. You wrapped the first gift you ever gave me—the first wrappable gift—in the comics. It was my Converse shoes."

"I gave you those?" She'd had no clue, although she'd always liked them. They'd always seemed a bit quirky for Sam, but now she knew why.

"Yes. You didn't like what you used to call my 'suburban-dad' shoes, but I wore them because I have to be careful. Certain shoes don't stay on well because of the spasticity I sometimes have in my feet, and some shoes can also cause a rub. The Converse don't do that. You researched it before you gave them to me."

"Well, that's ironic," she mused.

"What is?"

"Maybe I should get you some suburban-dad shoes again, since you're a dad now."

He smiled. "But I don't live in the 'burbs."

"True." She gave him a peck on the lips and then looked pointedly at the gift. "Are you gonna open it?"

He started to unwrap it, careful to untie the bow and then gingerly pulling the tape loose.

"Hurry, Sam," she urged impatiently. "You're worse than my mamaw." TJ's grandmother would always carefully unwrap gifts so she could reuse the wrapping paper later. Mamaw was a child of the Great Depression. Even though she was too young to live through it, her parents had. She used to press pieces of foil, re-straightening them so they could be used again, and she would wash disposable plastic cups. Her generation was "green" and good for the environment without ever trying to be.

"I might want to read them later," Sam said, referring to the comics.

"Oh, please. You really are like my mamaw."

"She must have been a smart lady." There was a teasing light in his eye.

TJ knew he was being deliberately slow just to drive her crazy. "Sam, just open it!"

He laughed, his deep dimples making her blood sing. When he finally got it open, he saw the shoebox and his eyes widened. "Seriously? Shoes?"

"Maybe," she said, being coy. "O-pen-it," she said pointedly.

When he finally got it open, he took the DVD out of the box, then looked at her, the corners of his mouth curving upward. "You got _Wings of Desire_?"

She suddenly felt insecure and prayed he would like it. Neither of them had a lot of money, and it had been a sort of unspoken agreement between the two of them that they wouldn't get each other expensive gifts. She'd gone for something with meaning instead, like he had, but the journal he'd made for her blew her gift out of the water. "I thought it was kind of appropriate, sort of coming full circle, you know?" she offered lamely. "First date, first anniversary?"

He turned the DVD over in his hands, studying it. Then he kissed her, lightly brushing his lips against hers. "Thank you," he purred in a deep, sincere voice. "It's perfect."

She smiled against his mouth, relieved and elated he liked it. "You're welcome."

He drew back, eyeing her dubiously. "But, are you actually gonna watch it with me?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

"Because you weren't exactly in to it the first time you saw it."

She shrugged. "Well, at least it's like I've never seen it. I wanna watch it. I want it to be like our date."

"Okay," he said, still sounding leery.

She took it from him and ripped the cellophane off of it, handed it back to him to tear off the industrial-strength, metallic, able-to-withstand-a-nuclear-blast tape that held it closed, and then popped it into the DVD player and turned on the TV.

She was curious to watch the movie, but thirty-five minutes in to it, she was starting to fall asleep. She never fell asleep during a movie, and she hated it when other people did. She widened her eyes, trying to make them stay open, and peered at Sam.

He seemed to be enthralled with the film, which was mostly subtitled. The dialogue was partly in French, partly in German, partly in English, and partly in other languages TJ couldn't identify. Sam didn't seem to mind the subtitles. The movie was also shot partly in black and white and partly in color. It didn't make any sense to TJ—something about angels observing humans in their everyday lives and sometimes comforting them, along with deeper implications for the city of Berlin. It was all way too artsy for TJ's more shallow, plebeian tastes. The film was more something Katrina would like.

TJ snuggled up to Sam and laid her head on his shoulder. He absently kissed the top of her head, but she could tell he was still totally in to the movie. She must have dozed off because Sam's gentle, deep voice woke her up. "Hey."

"Hay is for horses," she tossed out, her voice tinged with sleep.

He chuckled, causing his chest to vibrate under her cheek. "Are you falling asleep?"

"Uh-uh," she fibbed.

"Yes, you are. You never fall asleep during a movie."

She huffed. "I never had two alarm clocks named Sami Joy and Robby who woke me up at five-thirty a.m. every day, either."

"True," he agreed with indulgent humor. "We don't have to watch this. Would you rather do something else?"

"No. I wanna watch it." She could feel the oh-sure look he gave her. "I do," she insisted.

"Okay," he said, his tone doubtful. He didn't say anything else, and she assumed he went back to the movie, engrossed in it again.

She tried to pay attention, but her thoughts started to drift. She could feel his well-defined pectoral muscle under her cheek as she rested her head partly on his shoulder and partly on his chest. She imagined what it would feel like to have his smooth, golden skin and hard body beneath her fingertips and felt a surge of tingly warmth. She'd come close to touching him in more intimate places in the last few weeks, and she knew every inch of his earlobes, jawline, neck, and collarbone well; but she'd been shy with him, had never undressed him of her own accord when they were making out.

Ever the perfect gentleman, he'd never pushed her; but she knew by how tense his body got sometimes and by how harsh his breathing got that he was holding back, that he was straining himself to his limits.

She wondered when they'd last made love and knew it had to have been a very long time for him, almost a year. It was almost December now, and she knew from what she'd been told that she'd gone on bed rest for her pregnancy in December of last year. She didn't think she and Sam would've had much of a chance for hanky-panky while she'd been in the hospital.

She idly ran her index finger over the soft fabric of his pullover, tracing the sinew she knew was beneath the finely-knit, soft cotton. He drew in a breath and held it a moment before slowly letting it out.

She smiled and made her way over to his sternum, tracing the area between his chest muscles and then trailing a line down to his navel. She wondered where his ability to feel began and ended. He'd told her his injury affected everything below his navel, but where, precisely, was the line?

"TJ," he said, his voice husky, "you're making it very difficult to watch this movie."

"Sorry," she said, but she was still smiling and knew she didn't sound very contrite.

"Do you want me to turn it off?" He sounded cautiously hopeful.

She shrugged. "Only if you want to." _Yes, yes, yes_, was what she really meant.

He levered forward, grabbing the remote from the coffee table, and—thank goodness—there was no more _Wings of Desire._

When he sank back against the couch again, she straddled his lap and slipped her fingertip along the inside of his T-shirt collar.

He swallowed thickly, his voice that sexy velvet she loved. "So, what do you want to do, then?" he asked.

"I don't know. Weed the vegetable garden?"

He laughed. "At eight o'clock at night in the dark—in the winter?"

"Hmm, so hard to please," she teased. She pretended to ponder. "We could can some tomatoes." She bent down and kissed his earlobe, drinking in the intoxicating, male scent of him. His pheromones must be the extra-strength, heavy-duty kind. They made her want him with a force that was all-powerful and overwhelming. How had she resisted him for even three months?

"You hate canning," he said with a hitch in his breath, "and it's not the season."

"Oh, yeah." She feigned disappointment. "I know," she said a little wickedly. "We could make a cherry pie. I just love the moist, hot, cherry filling."

He closed his eyes. "Jesus, TJ. Do you know what you're doing to me?"

Of course she knew. She licked a trail down to his collarbone and pulled at his shirt a little to expose more of his skin. "What am I doing to you, Sam?" she whispered in between circles of her tongue.

"I—I don't know if I can control myself this time, Teej."

She stopped what she was doing and gave him a sultry look. "I don't want you to control yourself, Sam."

He groaned and pulled the elastic ponytail holder out of her hair, then ran his fingers through the tresses he'd unleashed. The feel of those magnificent fingers of his on her scalp was divine. He tugged her to him and kissed her—hard, demanding, and searing—and she felt thoroughly and completely branded, like she'd been claimed. She was his.

She was breathless, her heart pounding. "We—we could milk Faye," she suggested.

He let out a short laugh, a mixture of surprise, desire, and humor, and his gaze traveled down to her breasts. He swallowed again.

She took his hand and rubbed his fingers over her breast. He got the hint and took her nipple between his thumb and index finger, kneading it through the fabric of her cream-colored, long-sleeved cotton top. The action caused an exquisite sensation to resonate through her entire body and then pool in her nether region. God Almighty. The man _was_ a magician.

"You're..." she drew in a sharp breath, "...so good at the milking."

"You think so?" His eyes were penetrating and hot.

Now both his hands were kneading her breasts, slowly and sweetly torturing her. "Oh, my Lord. Oh, Sam." She closed her eyes, relishing what he was doing to her. She could feel something building within her, something she'd had an inkling of the time she'd been with Jeremy, but Jeremy had left her wanting.

She wanted to be fulfilled, to be sated, and she knew instinctively Sam was the only one who could do it. She grabbed hold of his wrists, stilling his movements so she could find her voice to speak. She opened her eyes and met his gaze. "I think we should go to bed."

"To sleep?" His eyes were hooded with desire, but the corners of his mouth were curved upward, causing shallow dimples. Obviously, he knew she didn't want to sleep.

"No," she said darkly. "Not to sleep."

He was suddenly serious, brow furrowing. "Are you sure, TJ?"

She kissed him, flicking her tongue in and out of his mouth, tasting him, and then gently nibbling at his bottom lip. "I'm sure."

She wanted him. It was a physical burn deep inside her. She had a new respect for his strength of will, for the restraint he'd shown not only in the past three months, but also when she'd first gotten out of the hospital. She had a pretty good idea now of how hard it must have been for him.

He cleared his throat. "You're, uh, sure the pill is working?"

He was talking about the birth control pills she'd recently started taking in anticipation that they would soon be re-consummating their marriage. No way were they taking a chance she would get pregnant again.

"What," she teased, "you don't think Sami Joy and Robby would like a little brother or sister?"

"That's so hilarious," he said with no humor whatsoever.

She grinned and stood up. He was holding her hands, gaze trained on her, and she admired the masculine planes of his face and the strong line of his jaw. He was a god. It was as simple as that. He was as beautiful as any Greek or pagan god. And he loved her. Despite everything, despite the way she'd treated him, despite the fact that he could have a girl a thousand times prettier than she was, he'd stuck by her. She would love him just for that alone until the day she died—even if there weren't a million other reasons to love him.

"Meet me in my bedroom," she said, as she slowly slid her hands from his. He made her feel sexy and bold. She walked (what she hoped was) seductively out of the room and prayed she didn't look like a dork. Once she was in the hallway and out of sight, she raced to the bathroom and quickly changed into the decadent, plum-colored slip negligee she'd ordered from Victoria's Secret. It was mostly satin with black, lacy trim that accentuated her breasts.

Her boobs weren't huge, but they were adequate and still perky, in spite of having been pregnant and giving birth to twins. She'd thought about wearing the pretty, blush-pink baby-doll negligee her mom had shown her, the one Other TJ had worn on her wedding night a year ago. But TJ felt inexperienced enough as it was, and that negligee was too girlish.

The plum slip she wore now made her feel more grownup and more worldly. It covered her stretch marks and all her scars, except for the faint one in her throat where the trach had been. She was a little shy about Sam seeing everything, but she guessed he'd seen most of it before anyway, and he still wanted her.

When she walked into her bedroom, she saw he'd transferred from his chair and was sitting on the edge of the unmade bed. She rarely made her bed these days. The twins seemed to take up every second of her time, and she was lucky to get in a shower and throw her hair in a ponytail, let alone make the bed.

The only light in the room was her bedside lamp, bathing Sam in a golden glow that accentuated his tawny skin and his dark, sensual eyes. His gaze was on her, traveling over every inch of her. It made her feel self-conscious and sexy at the same. By the expression on his face, he clearly liked what he saw.

"Hey," she said shyly.

He flashed her with dimples. "Hay is for horses."

She laughed softly and padded toward him, wishing she had on sexy high-heeled slippers like they wore in the movies instead of just her bare feet. When she reached him, he put his hands on her hips and looked up at her.

Mercy, how she loved him. Her heart was about to dive-bomb its way out of her chest. She wanted this man, her husband, but she suddenly felt awkward and didn't know where to begin. The playful boldness she'd felt minutes ago in the living room had deserted her. "So, um, what do we do now?" she blurted, then instantly felt heat creeping up her neck. _Smooth, TJ._

His answer was a stunningly seductive smile full of promise, and she instantly went weak in the knees.

_**TBC**_

_**A/N: Sorry to leave you hangin', but I promise TJ and Sam will get to know each other very intimately in the next chapter. ;)  
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	30. Chapter 30

**_A/N: Thank you skzb, Catsluver, and Cartersdaughter. Your input, encouragement, and hard work beta'ing this story continue to humble me. You guys are saints!_  
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**_Thank you for the sweet comments those of you left as guests. They are very much appreciated!  
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**_Some of you have asked me about the twins' age, so this is just a reminder that, although they were born on January 1st, they were so premature in their development they were still considered fetuses while they were in the NICU. As a result, the doctors, TJ, and Sam go by the due date the twins should have been born on to measure their progress and development as babies, which was April 30th. That is why, in the middle of October when Sam and TJ went to San Diego, the twins were considered to be five and a half months old when their age was adjusted. Hope that clears some confusion. This chapter continues with TJ and Sam's first wedding anniversary, which is November 27th. That makes the twins now seven months old.  
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**_**WARNING**: This chapter contains a lengthy sex scene, so I'M GIVING IT AN M RATING. I apologize to those of you who aren't in to that sort of thing because it takes up most of the chapter. However, if you don't want to read the sex scene, skip down to the "XXXXXXXX" that denotes the beginning of a new scene at the end of the chapter. That scene is important to the story.  
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**Chapter 30**

"First, I want you to help me," Sam instructed. His voice was a rich, low vibration that washed over TJ like she was easing into a hot bubble bath. He was still looking up at her, his hazel eyes smoldering. She loved the feel of his hands, the weight of them on her hips.

"Okay." Her mouth was suddenly dry and she swallowed. "What do you want me to do?"

He pressed his palms into the mattress and scooted himself back a little, never taking his eyes off her. "I need help with my legs."

He didn't really. She'd seen him maneuver his legs perfectly fine by himself many times, but she did as he asked and lifted his heavy, long legs onto the bed. There was something very satisfying and proprietary about the gesture—intimate, even—and it made her feel very wifely. It made her feel like _his_ wife, and she liked that he'd let her help him. Once his legs were on the bed, she carefully removed his socks from his feet, then sat on the edge of the bed next to him.

All her senses were on overdrive—all her Sam senses—and her heart was beating wildly. He was studying her intently, and she remembered what he'd told her at her birthday party. _"I'm always watching you." _

The memory of his words caused a pleasant shiver to roll down her spine. It wasn't a creepy-stalker-guy thing to say. It was protective, and she felt safer knowing Sam would always watch over her and the twins.

She cleared her throat, trying to still the hummingbird wings in her chest and stomach. "Now what?"

"What do you want to do, TJ?" he asked softly.

There was a heat coming from him, a magnetic force drawing her to him she couldn't resist. "I—I want to touch you."

He took her hand and placed her palm on his chest. She could feel his hard muscles through the layers of his T-shirt and pullover, and her blood pressure spiked.

"I want you to touch me, too," he said simply, eyes locked onto hers.

Holy God. She was going to have a heart attack before they ever made it to _it_. She swallowed hard. "I'm scared, Sam. What if..."

"What if...?"

Her throat suddenly felt tight. "What if it's not the same—for you, I mean? What if I can't—what if I'm not as good as Other TJ?"

He brushed her hair away from her face and then tenderly traced the line of her jaw with his strong fingers. "It's okay. We'll go slow. Trust me. You're all I need, TJ. You're everything I want. Just you."

"Why, Sam?" she asked with genuine curiosity and a bit of skepticism. "Why do you want me?"

"Because you make me laugh."

"And because I'm a great cook?" she supplied with a wry grin.

He gave her a glimpse of white teeth and dimples. "Uh, no." After a slight pause, he said, "Because you're smart."

He caressed her cheek, and she leaned into his touch.

"Because you're generous and loving."

She kissed the palm of his hand.

"Because you're a great mother."

She raised her brows. "Really?"

"Yes." He looked so earnest and intense when he said it.

She knew he meant it, and she looked away modestly. Motherhood was a scary, unknown frontier for her. She felt like she was walking blind and was constantly second-guessing herself, wondering if she was doing the right things with the twins. Were they warm enough? Too hot? Were they getting exposed to dangerous RSV germs every time she and Fern took them to the grocery store? Were they getting exposed to a hundred other illnesses every time she took them to the pediatrician's office for a checkup, where sick kids abounded?

Sami Joy and Robby were seven months old (ages adjusted) and had never been sick—unheard of according to some of TJ's cousins and friends who had kids. Was she being too clean, always using hand sanitizer and constantly hand-washing? Were the twins getting exposed to _enough_ germs to build their immune systems properly?

Was she a bad mother because she was buying store-bought baby food in a jar rather than making it from scratch with the vegetables from her mother's garden? The questions and insecurities were endless. TJ had Fern as a guide and to reassure, but Sam's compliment made TJ feel lighter than she had in weeks.

The corners of his mouth curved upward as if he knew what she'd been thinking, and he continued. "I want you because you're beautiful."

She rolled her eyes.

"Hey," he said, his gaze burning into her, "I mean it."

"I think maybe you need glasses."

"I see you very clearly. You're the only woman I'll ever see, TJ."

Unable to speak around the sudden glut of emotion clogging her throat, she kissed him instead—a chaste, sincere touch of her lips to his, thanking him.

He eased himself down so he was lying on his back, adjusting his legs with his hands using quick, fluid movements that were obviously second nature to him. Resting his head on a pillow, he pulled her down to him. She snuggled up next to him, laying her head on his shoulder in her favorite spot, and he put his arm around her. He took a lock of her hair and rubbed it between his thumb and index finger. "I love your hair, TJ. It's like silk. The color reminds me of dark cherries and chestnuts."

She'd always thought it was sort of the color of mud. She liked his description much better.

He gently rubbed his finger along her nose and across her cheekbones, making her stomach flutter. "Your freckles are beautiful, like sprinkles of cinnamon. They fit your personality—all Kentucky spice and sass."

"Pfft." She rose up and looked at him, incredulous. "Are you serious?"

He smirked a little, like he was both amused and a little exasperated at her surprise. "Yes, I'm serious. And your eyes..." His expression turned soulful. "God, your eyes are so gorgeous, TJ."

She glanced down, feeling a blush coming on.

His thumb brushed feather light over her eyelashes. "Your eyes are this amazing brown, like cozy fires and rich hot chocolate on a winter day. Your lashes are thick and insanely long, and every time I look at them—"

"Okay, okay!" she said, laughing. "Lord have mercy, Sam. Stop. You're gonna have to lay off the Harlequins."

He grinned. "I won't stop until I convince you that you're the most beautiful girl I've ever known."

She rested her chin on his chest and was quiet, mulling over the sweet, thoughtful, eloquent things he'd said. And, finally, she took the first step toward forgiving herself and accepting her body. She let herself believe him.

Never taking her eyes from his, she rose and straddled him, wiggling her hips suggestively. "Before, did Other TJ do this?"

His brows went up and he smiled a little lopsidedly. "Yeah."

"What did she do after that?"

"It doesn't matter what _you _did before, TJ," he assured. "Just do what feels right to you now." His expression grew heated. "Trust me. I'll like whatever you do."

"Show me, Sam," she said with innuendo, feeling provocative and more confident. "Show me what you like."

He didn't move at first, just searched her face for a moment, but then he pulled at the hem of her negligee and slowly began to lift it up. She helped him tug it over her head, and he held the plum satin in his hand for a brief second before letting it fall to the floor. There was something about the way the slip looked so impossibly feminine in his very masculine hand that turned TJ on even more.

He drank in her body with his gaze and raised a trembling hand, as if he wanted to touch her but was afraid she might disappear. Then he shut his eyes and whispered, "Oh, yes. You're so beautiful."

His words kindled a fire within her, but she also heard anguish hidden in them—the pain he'd experienced in the past year, the longing—and her throat tightened with emotion. She swallowed hard and took his hand, kissing him tenderly on his palm and then placing it over her heart. He opened his eyes and locked them onto her face, then gently started rubbing his thumbs over her nipples, teasing them until they were erect and hard.

She could barely put a coherent thought together. Instinctively, she grabbed both the bottom of his pullover and the T-shirt underneath it and began to pull them up, exposing his narrow waist and perfectly defined torso. She tugged the clothing up to his chest muscles and then over his head and let them fall to the floor, much as he had her negligee.

He was still kneading her breasts with his warm palms and fingers. His hands were slightly callused and added a sweet chafing feeling to her already overly-sensitive nipples.

She mirrored his movements, although more tentatively, coaxing his nipples to taut peaks with the pads of her thumbs. He closed his eyes, his brow creasing. His breathing got harsher. "TJ, that's...so good. You have no idea."

She gave a short, throaty laugh, savoring the feel of what he was still doing to her breasts. "I think I have a pretty good idea."

He opened his eyes. "You're touching one of the most sensitive parts of my body."

She was intrigued by that. "Really?"

"Yes," he said vehemently, sucking in a breath as she pressed a little harder.

She let up. "Did I hurt you?" She remembered what he'd told her, how certain parts of his body were so sensitive just the lightest touch was enough.

He gave her a roguish smirk, eyes liquid with desire. "Almost."

She gently stilled the motion of his hands on her breasts, laced her fingers with his, and pinned his hands to the mattress near his head.

"Why are you stopping me?" he asked.

She was almost lying on top of him now, her breasts brushing against his chest, soft on hard. "Because I want to know you, Sam. I want to see what feels good to _you_."

He shook his head. "This is about you, too, TJ. I want you to enjoy it."

She kissed the curve of his neck, just below his chin. "I am. Believe me." She breathed in the spicy, earthy scent of him. "I want to know what makes you tick." With little circles of her tongue, she trailed her way down his neck, all the way down to first one nipple, then the other.

"Oh, God." His voice was ragged. He pushed his hands against hers, breaking free of her hold on him, and pulled her up to him, drawing her face to his. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, demanding and needy, and she felt lust surge through her like the top blowing from a volcano. She returned his kiss just as passionately, loving the feel of his tongue pressing against hers and tasting his mouth, running her tongue along the ridge of his teeth.

As they were kissing, she let her hands run down the side of his body, over the bumps of his ribs, trying not to go below the point where he couldn't feel. She ran her hands along his biceps, admiring the bulge of them and his smooth skin. She tried to pull away from his mouth so she could taste more of his body, but he wouldn't let her. He held her to him. "No," he said, biting her bottom lip.

"Let me explore you, Sam," she whispered against his mouth. "Please."

He swallowed hard and closed his eyes with a grimace. "I love you."

She sat up straighter and placed her palms on his chest, feeling his rapid breathing and his heart beating beneath her fingertips. She let the heat of his skin soak into her and infiltrate every molecule of her body, then began where she'd left off before, tracing the top of his sternum with her fingertip and following the trail down to his navel. "Where does it stop?" she asked. She knew he would understand what she meant.

He opened his eyes, holding her gaze, and took her finger, guiding it to his navel. Just at the top of it, he said huskily, "Here, I can feel." He lowered her finger down a fraction, to where it was right at the point of the bottom of his belly button. "Here, I can't."

She scooted down a bit and kissed the area just above his navel very lightly where he'd shown her. His stomach muscles flinched. She let her tongue trace what she imagined was a thin sash around his waist, demarcating the line between what was exquisite for him and what would have no meaning.

His hands were on her shoulders, and she could feel his fingers tighten and relax as she continued to explore his body, dancing her tongue over every inch of his torso and hitting spots that were particularly sensitive. She made her way to his shoulder and began a sultry perusal of his bicep with her mouth, then down to the crease on the inside of his elbow—which elicited a particularly enthusiastic gasp from him that she filed away for future use—and then down the inside of his wrist to his hand. She took his hand, closed her eyes, and very carefully defined the lines of his palm with her tongue.

"TJ," he breathed shakily, "please."

She knew he didn't want her to stop, that what she was doing was right. She let her hot breath caress his hand as she kept darting her tongue in and out of the lines on his palm—a fortune teller of a different kind.

His eyes were hooded and glazed with pleasure, his breathing uneven and quick. She loved that she could get such a response from him—loved the simple fact that she could make him feel good. She could tell he was nearing the brink of something, but she wasn't done yet.

She gently withdrew her tongue from his hand and started to lick and kiss his waist on the "sash," beginning at his side and working her way to his navel and then to his other side.

He drew in a gulp of air and made a low moaning noise in the back of his throat. She'd never heard anything sexier or more male and primal, and she got a charge from it. His pleasure was her pleasure, and she had an intense desire to please him, to make him forget Other TJ.

TJ's body responded each time Sam gasped, each time he flinched and tensed his cut muscles, each time he groaned. She burned for him, and her body readied itself, growing slick with desire. She'd never felt anything like it before in her life. This was passion, pure and raw, and she was quivering with it.

She made her way to his other shoulder, then down his other arm, mirroring what she'd done before on the opposite side. When she reached his hand, she became the palm reader again, outlining his lifeline with her tongue, and he responded with another silky groan. She sensed he was no longer capable of speech, that he was adrift in his head, only aware of his hypersensitive nerves and what they were letting him feel.

She took his fingers into her mouth, one by one, and sucked on them, making sure to be thorough and enjoying the powerful shape and length of them. There was something very erotic about his fingers, something that touched her on a very primitive, animal level.

She thought about the rest of his body, the paralyzed part, and was curious. She wanted to explore all of him, was extremely turned on by the thought, but she didn't want to do anything that would make him lose his concentration. She'd seen his legs before, and while they were thin, they were still his legs—a man's legs—and they were long and sexy. She wanted to taste them and experiment with the more private parts of him. The thought made her blush furiously, and she felt guilty. He wouldn't be able to feel it. It wouldn't be fair to him.

She tried to push the curiosity away, tried not to wonder about what it would feel like to have him inside her. There was no doubt he could rodeo. The twins were living proof of that. He'd explained to her that he could get an erection by touch but he couldn't control it; it was purely reflexive, not generated by emotion, and his endurance was sporadic. She was intrigued and wanted to see what would happen.

But another time. Tonight was about him. He'd waited so long, and she wouldn't be selfish. She could satisfy her curiosity another time.

She flicked her tongue over the tip of his thumb, then pulled it from her mouth and kissed his palm. "Do you want more of this, Sam? Tell me what feels good." She whispered it, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible into his thoughts.

His eyes were closed, and he opened them halfway like he had before. They were filled with lust. "You're—it all feels good, TJ. It all feels so good. Just trust your instincts."

She shook her head. "Show me, Sam. I want you to teach me." She ran her hands up over his torso, feeling the hard ridges of his upper abdominal muscles, his ribs, his pectorals. He was sinewy and stunning. She traced his collarbone with her fingertips.

He encircled her wrists with his hands, guiding them down the center of his chest to his navel. "Touch me like this, like you did before," he said huskily, showing her with her own fingers how she should do it, brushing her fingers along his waistline where his sensation began. "It's a fine line, and sometimes it can feel uncomfortable—weird." He ran her fingers from his navel down to his side and back again, closing his eyes. "And sometimes," his breath hitched, "it feels incredible."

"Okay," she said, savoring the electric feel of his smooth, molten skin. She memorized the amount of pressure he was showing her, learning what would be too much or too little.

"Touch me there, TJ...with your tongue."

She smiled and obliged, swirling little circles like she'd done before along his waist. She felt bolder now, less like she was in unknown territory. "Like this?" she murmured into his skin.

"Yes," he answered tightly. "Oh, God."

She felt his hands on her shoulders again. His arms were tense, holding her in place. He was telling her without words that what she was doing was incredible and he didn't want her to stop.

She breathed him in and tasted his salty skin. She felt him start to vibrate, felt his heated skin break into a fine sheen of sweat. He was panting heavily, his grip on her shoulders getting tighter and tighter. "Jesus, TJ," he rasped between breaths.

His hands moved to her hair and he wove his fingers into it, massaging her scalp and tugging on the strands a little, not hurting her but pulling enough that it made her more ardent—made her excited. She could feel the button from the fly of his jeans that rode low on his hips rub against her stomach and was reminded the lower half of him was still fully clothed. It was amazing how she could bring him to the brink of coming without even touching that part of his body.

She exerted a little more pressure with her tongue on his waistline, still swirling and circling, and he cried out, this time pulling her hair harder. She knew he had no idea what he was doing, that he was past the point of reason. His roughness wasn't really painful, so she didn't stop him. In fact, she was surprised to discover there was a wild side to her she'd never known existed, a side of her that definitely liked it.

Finally, his body heat began to ebb and his taut muscles began to relax. She wriggled up his torso, letting her breasts and belly glide against his sweat-moistened skin, loving the feel of his lungs expanding and contracting under her like he'd been running a race. She rested her palms on his firm pec muscles—couldn't seem to ever get enough of them—and buried her head in the curve of his neck. She soaked him in, blanketed with a feeling of satisfaction and contentment, a sense of accomplishment, and grinned into his neck, kissing his skin there.

They rested that way for a minute, silent, until he combed his fingers gently through her hair. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice still a little heavy with spent passion.

"Why are you sorry?" she asked, resting her chin on his shoulder.

"For pulling your hair."

She rose up to look at him, smiling coyly. "I didn't mind."

He grinned, showing her his wicked dimples, and pulled her to him for a kiss. It was surprisingly chaste, his lips lightly brushing hers, and the tenderness of it was intensified by the memory of the hot, heady sex they'd just experienced.

She sighed with pleasure. "That was...wow. That was incredible."

His forehead wrinkled. "The kiss?"

She giggled. "Well, that too, but I was talking about, you know, everything else."

"For _me," _he emphasized a little ruefully. "I'm thinking you didn't get much out of it."

"Are you kidding?" She dropped a kiss on his mouth. "I enjoyed every second of it. I love your body, Sam. I love how it responds to me. Your pleasure is my pleasure."

He held her gaze for a moment in the dim glow of the bedside lamp, just a hint of hazel visible in his dark eyes. "You just stole my line."

"I did?"

"Yes."

She wasn't sure exactly what he meant but didn't pursue it. "So, it was okay?" she asked tentatively. "Maybe not as good as Other TJ, but—"

He rolled his eyes. "TJ," he said intently, taking her face in his hands, "to me, you and Other TJ are one and the same. There's no difference. You're just TJ who lost her memory. That's all. Do you hear me?"

She got a lump in her throat. "But don't you miss her?"

He kissed her, slow and sweet. "No." He ran his thumb along her jawline. "Why would I miss her when she's right here? I love you, TJ, not some ghost of you that never existed."

She kissed his mouth, then his chin, then traveled down his throat with little nibbles and kept going. When she took his nipple in her mouth, he sucked in air and said, "TJ, what are you doing?"

"Buying groceries," she quipped between flicks of her tongue.

She could hear a bit of a smile in the sexy rumble of his voice. "You know what I mean. It's your turn."

"But I like tasting you. I can't get enough of you." She kissed him again on his mouth, sucking on his lower lip.

He deepened the kiss, exploring her. At the same time, he rubbed her back with his magician's fingers, a light caress that tickled the fine hair covering her skin. It was one of the most luxurious things she'd ever felt. She wanted him to touch all of her that way.

"Lie down for me, TJ," he breathed, his lips ghosting over hers as he spoke. "Lie on your back."

The simple command sent a thrill of anticipation rippling through her, and she did as he asked. It seemed her body knew what was about to happen, even if she couldn't remember on a conscious level.

He rolled onto his side and adjusted his legs, knees bent slightly to give him more stability. He looked devilishly hot with his ripped upper body and his faded jeans hugging low on his hips. His faint five-o'clock shadow accentuated his strong jawline and sensuous mouth, and the effect was decadent and a little dangerous. She could see the waistband of his gray boxers and imagined herself undressing him and running her hand along...

"Close your eyes," he husked.

Have mercy. His voice alone was like the purr of a tiger, and there was no way she could deny him anything. If he told her to rob a bank, she would happily do so.

She felt him caress her like he had before, and without ever opening her eyes, she pictured his graceful fingers touching her. He was fulfilling her wish, running his fingers over every inch of her—down her ribs, across her stomach, over her arm, her wrist, inside the crease of her elbow. He lovingly touched her faded scars—causing her to gasp at the unexpected pleasure of it—and stopped at her breasts. He paid careful attention to her nipples and was gentle, teasing them lightly and then increasing the pressure in increments until she was arching up to press them into the pads of his fingers. Her body yearned for a connection to him.

After he'd coaxed her nipples into taut peaks, he made his way leisurely down her body to her thighs, caressing the insides of them, causing her to ache with need. He pulled her black lacy panties down past her hips, lower and lower, as far as he could reach. "Take them off for me, TJ."

She did, pulling them down the rest of the way with her toe and kicking them off haphazardly, not caring if she ever saw them again.

He brushed his fingers again over her stomach, and she flinched at the current emanating from his fingertips. Every nerve in her body tingled with need. He made a steady trail from her navel down to the top of where her pubic area began. She moaned and almost cried out at the urgent, frenzied tension building inside her, but he didn't give her release.

Instead, he heightened the tension, teasing her most private, intimate area, the little nub that was already hard and begging for attention. The next thing she knew, those lovely fingers of his were inside her. She was moist and ready for him, could feel him glide easily in and out of her. She sucked in a breath of air, almost coming in that instant, but he seemed to sense how close she was and quickly withdrew, leaving her wanting and pleading with soft groans.

"Not yet," he soothed, taking her hand and kissing the back of it, then taking her fingers, one by one, into his sinful mouth and sucking. It was like his sole purpose for existing was to make her die of pleasure.

All of her senses were invaded with him, and she craved his touch, his smell, his voice. He was her whole world. She marveled at how lucky she was to have this gorgeous, incredible man as her husband. Even better than that, _he was in her bed_, and she realized they could do this every night if they felt like it. Why had she even waited three months? Why had she been so shy, so insecure? There was no premarital-sex guilt involved, no hangups. They were married and had permission to rock each other's worlds anytime they wanted. Marriage definitely had its perks.

"Open your eyes."

She did, absorbing every detail of him, etching every one of his hunky muscles into her memory. He was rubbing little circles yet again across her stomach, sweetly tormenting her. "Please, Sam," she begged. "I want you to go back down _there._"

His mouth curved into a knowing smirk. It was cocky for him, not like his usual humble nature, but it was sexy as hell. "We're going to take this slow, TJ. Very slow."

She moaned with frustration, her breathing uneven and rapid. Her gaze scanned his body, resting involuntarily at the fly of his jeans.

"Do you want to undress me?" he challenged.

Her mouth went dry and she swallowed. The thought of fulfilling her fantasy, of having the chance to touch and explore all of him, made her naked skin prickle and burn. "Y-yes," she stuttered.

He rolled onto his back and pulled her to him, his eyes branding her. "Do it. Undress me."

She rose up to where she was sitting on her heels next to him and helped him adjust his legs. Her fingers trembled a little when she began to unbutton his fly. She unzipped his jeans slowly and peeled them off of his hips with a little help from him, easing them down his thighs but leaving his boxers intact. She hesitated, swallowing thickly.

"Don't stop. Do what you want to do, TJ."

Her heart was racing like a freight train, her body still slick with wanting him, with the memory of his fingers inside her. She wanted him to fill her. She pulled his jeans off the rest of the way, over his feet, and let the denim fall to the floor.

His feet were slightly swollen, the skin of them smooth. She knew they swelled sometimes if he'd been sitting all day without a break. Without really thinking, she began to massage his feet and toes. They were cold, and she wanted to infuse some warmth into them and get his blood flowing.

"What are you doing, Teej?" he asked quietly.

She paused. "Oh. Just, um, massaging your feet. Do you—should I stop?"

"No," he replied, closing his eyes, "but I like it when you tell me what you're doing, since I can't feel it."

"Oh." _Duh._ She cleared her throat and started kneading his feet again. "I'm just rubbing your feet, warming them up." She made her way to his calves, loving the feel of his cool skin and the way the coarse hairs on his legs prickled her palms. His legs were so very...male.

She felt shy again but went with her instincts. Still massaging his calves, she bent down and kissed his knee. "I'm massaging your calves now, Sam," she drawled softly, "and I kissed your knee because..."

When she didn't go on, he opened his eyes halfway. "Because why, TJ?" he asked in his tiger's purr.

She felt a blush that seemed to infuse her whole body with warmth. "Because I love you, Sam. Every inch of you. Your whole body turns me on."

She was rewarded with dimples that were almost smug, and he closed his eyes. "I know."

She poked her cheek with her tongue, holding in a smile, and made her way up his legs, massaging his thighs. It was so weird, the way she was touching him and feeling the smooth skin of his legs, rubbing them, doing something that would give an able-bodied person at the very least a release of tension—at the most, intense pleasure—but he couldn't feel it. _She_ was the one who was enjoying it, the intimacy of it, the sense that she was claiming every bit of him and making him hers.

She made her way to his boxers and blushed again when she began to slide them off his hips. "I'm to your boxers, Sam. My fingers are inside your waistband, and I'm sliding the boxers off of you." She did so quickly, throwing them on the floor to join the rest of their clothes.

Every part of her was curious and excited. Sam was naked! She had all six foot gazillion inches of him to herself, no clothes to inhibit her view of him. He might be paralyzed, but it took nothing away from him. She didn't care if his legs weren't perfect, if his skin was marred with hunting scars. He was all man, he was beautiful, and he was hers. Her body longed for him, pined for him, and she would go insane if she didn't have him.

He opened his eyes and held her gaze. "You have to make me ready for you, TJ," he said, like he knew what she was thinking.

Her body felt like it was melting, and the only thing that would be left of her was a pool of hot lava down low in her core. He took her hand and placed it on the most intimate part of him. "You have to touch me there," he instructed.

She did, stroking him, but nothing happened, and she was afraid she was doing something wrong.

"Touch me where I can feel you, too," he said. "I want you on top of me."

She moved up to where she was lying on top of him, her breasts on his chest, her nipples instantly hardening at the first feel of his steely muscles pressing against her. His hand was still over hers on his private area, moving with her as she rubbed him. He was showing her, teaching her, urging her not to stop, to be patient—something she was quickly losing control of.

With his other hand, he laced his fingers in her hair and gently pulled her head to him, bringing her lips to his, coaxing and taunting her with his tongue. To her relief, she felt him finally begin to grow beneath her hand, and she wrapped her hand around his swelling shaft. Her heart went wild with anticipation. While she continued to rub up and down his length, he let go of her hand, making his way to _her_ private area. He eased two of his fingers inside her. She was still wet and ready, almost out of her head with desire.

Unable to wait any longer and unsure of how long his erection would last, she grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand out of the way, and moved over on top of him, fitting him inside her. She arched her head back, groaning with satisfaction and utter joy at the way he filled her. "Oh, God," she whispered breathlessly.

He kissed her throat, and his hands slid down to her hips. "How does it feel, TJ? Tell me how it feels."

She could hardly speak, she was so overwhelmed. "It's so...tight, so firm. It feels perfect," her breath hitched, "like we were never meant to be apart." She braced her hands on his broad shoulders and began to rock, burying her head in the curve of his neck. The rocking caused a friction that felt incredible, and she wanted more of it, moving her hips up and down in an increasingly faster rhythm.

His breathing matched hers, heavy and rapid, and she realized that he was enjoying this with her. It spurred her on, made her more aroused than she thought was humanly possible.

It didn't take her long to climax, and when she did, time ceased to exist. She had no breath, no heartbeat. Every fiber of her ignited and built and built and built into a pressure so intense she exploded into a million pieces. She screamed Sam's name over and over and shuddered with wave after wave of something indescribable and so lovely that she was weightless.

Finally, her heart beat once more, time started up again, and she began to breathe, panting in gulps of air and falling lazily back to earth. She couldn't move. All her limbs felt weak and she was spent. She found herself draped over Sam, his ribs hard against hers, her ear over his heart. She listened to his heartbeat, rapid at first and then slowly returning to normal along with hers.

They were both slick with a light sheen of sweat, their bodies feverish everywhere that they were melded against each other and cool in the places where the chilled air hit their bare skin. It was wonderful.

He rubbed her back idly and tenderly with his fingertips. She didn't know how long they stayed that way, but neither of them seemed to want to ruin the perfection of the moment. She thought about the past. How many nights had she spent with Sam like this? No wonder Other TJ—correction—no wonder _she _ had been willing to risk everything for this man. Demons, monsters, ghosts, freaky evil demon blood—who cared? She would stand by him no matter what. He was her sun and air; her past, present, and future.

He glided his thumb over her cheekbone. "You're crying."

"I am?" she said, genuinely surprised.

He wiped away a tear she hadn't even realized was on her cheek. "Yes." His voice was a deep vibration in his chest. "Why are you crying?"

"I didn't know I was." She rose up to where she could look at him. "But that was...what we just did...have mercy. There are no words. _That_ was my first time, Sam." She felt a surge of emotion and drew in a breath, shaking her head. "Nothing else will ever compare."

His brow crinkled, his dark eyes turning soulful. "I love you, TJ."

She smiled, biting her lip as her heart almost burst. "I love you, too, Sam." She kissed him and ran her finger over the faint cleft in his chin, delighting in the scratchy feel of his stubble and the faint noise it made as her finger rubbed over it. "So, are you gonna make an honest woman of me now?"

His brows went up. "What do you mean?"

She wiggled her ring finger where he could see it. "Wedding band? Engagement ring?"

His mouth curved rakishly. "Not yet."

She rolled her eyes.

"Patience is a virtue," he admonished lightly.

She quirked one side of her mouth. "I'm not feeling very virtuous right now."

He grinned, dimples deep and making her pulse leap. Curious, she eased her hand down the length of his body and couldn't help the widening of her eyes when she touched him. He was still hard.

"Uh," he said with a slightly embarrassed laugh, "sometimes that happens. I guess it's better than the opposite."

"Hmm," she said, eyeing him naughtily. "Maybe we shouldn't let it go to waste."

He smiled. "No. We definitely shouldn't."

**XXXXXXXX**

It was just after lunchtime, and Wyman Trammell was scrutinizing Sam with a funny look, assessing him, his black eyes bright and sharp beneath graying eyebrows that weren't bushy but ample.

Sam sat across from Wyman's desk trying to get information about Wyman's latest case so he could research and brief it, but, as often happened, it was hard to get Wyman to focus. Sam knew he should've gotten to the office before bourbon-thirty. "Wyman, did you hear what I just said?"

Wyman waved a beefy hand in dismissal. He wasn't fat, but he was stocky with the ruddy complexion of an alcoholic. He had strong, symmetrical features that were a little cocky and arrogant. He'd probably been a lady-killer once, but years of hard drinking had taken their toll. He was a confirmed bachelor, and God help any woman who ever tried to take him on.

By five o'clock, his thick gray hair, styled like something from the '20s—short on the back and sides, long on top and slicked back—would be disheveled, and his suit jacket would be rumpled and flung over the back of a chair. His tie would be loose, collar undone, shirtsleeves rolled up, and he would smell like a brewery mixed with a distillery.

He was an excellent lawyer but also a functioning alcoholic—at least functioning for most of the day—and it was a shame the booze had such a hold on him. Before he'd destroyed more than a few brain cells, Sam had no doubt the man had been brilliant.

"We'll talk about the McCray case in a minute," announced Wyman in his usual abrupt manner that was mixed with a Kentucky drawl. A slight slur would be added to his accent as the day wore on, after one too many of what Wyman called his "elixirs." His manner of speaking was a strange mix that was uniquely Wyman. "You saved my ass on that Becker case," he commented.

Sam looked at his watch. He had a full schedule today and was supposed to meet with another client in Colleyville in an hour. If Wyman was in a talkative mood, Sam would be late. "Wyman, I think the McCray case—"

"Later." Eyes narrowed in a piercing look, Wyman said, "What are you gonna do with your future, Sam?"

The unexpected question threw Sam for a loop. "I...don't know," he replied honestly. "I've sort of been taking things day by day, trying to get settled again after everything that's happened in the last year. I'm just glad to have my wife back."

"Hmph." Wyman stared at him for a moment. "You're no fool."

Sam waited for the older man to elaborate, but he didn't. "Uh, thanks?" said Sam, a little unsure if Wyman had given him a compliment or not.

"I don't suffer fools lightly, and there's not many people I like—but I like you."

Sam was uncomfortable with Wyman being nice. It was a little weird. Wyman wasn't the touchy-feely type.

"Have you thought about going back to law school?"

Sam had. But Berkeley was well over two thousand miles away, and his life was in Kentucky now. He had to think about TJ and the twins, about how he would support them and still pay off all their hospital debt. Living at the farm with Fern and Vern was a bit cramped, but it was ideal in a lot of ways. Fern and Vern were a huge help with the twins, and Sam and TJ didn't have living expenses like rent or utility bills to worry about.

Sam had offered to help out with buying groceries and things like that, but Fern and Vern wouldn't hear of it. As a result, Sam was able to put a lot of what he made as a paralegal toward the medical bills—after buying mountains of diapers, baby formula, clothing, and anything else the twins required. He'd even started putting aside a meager amount of money each month for the twins' college fund.

"Sam?" barked Wyman, snapping his fingers impatiently in front of Sam's face. "Law school. Have you thought about going back?"

Sam blinked. "Yes, I have, but—"

"No buts. You wanna go back or not?"

"Truthfully," Sam said, running a hand through his hair, "I do, but law school and I don't seem to agree with each other. Every time I try to go, something catastrophic happens in my life. I think maybe something or someone is trying to tell me to forget it. It's not meant to be."

"Bullshit. You're a great paralegal, and it's an important profession—I'm not knocking it—but you were born to be a lawyer. Your instincts are right on the money, and you're sharp. You think quick on your feet." He drew up short, like he'd just remembered Sam's feet didn't work, and gave a half-ass roll of his eyes. "You know what I mean."

"Right. Thanks," said Sam, holding in a bit of amusement. Wyman never treated him like he was disabled. In fact, Wyman hardly seemed to notice.

"I've got a proposition for you," Wyman said.

"A proposition?"

Wyman gave a short nod and declared, "Kentucky."

"Kentucky?"

"God Almighty, are we in a cave? I hear a fuckin' echo. Yes. Kentucky, as in University of. It's not Berkeley, but it's a pretty damn good law school."

"I've thought about applying," Sam said with a shrug, "but I think it might be hard for me to get another scholarship since my track record for staying in school isn't exactly stellar. And I'm already up to my eyeballs in debt. I don't want to take out another loan."

"Good."

"Good?"

Wyman rolled his eyes again. "Stop with the echo. It's good because I want to own your ass for the next several years."

Sam eyed him uncertainly. "I don't get what you mean."

"I'll pay your way through law school," Wyman said matter-of-factly.

Sam raised his brows. "Why would you do that?"

"Because I'm getting old and tired. I want an associate—a partner—someone who can keep me in line and keep me from getting disbarred and deal with all the crap I don't want to deal with. Trouble is, anyone worth their salt goes on to greener pastures than our little Podunk corner of Kentucky here. I figure, if you owe me, I can get a few good years out of you before you move on."

"Uh, thanks, I guess, but it's not just a money issue. Like I said, I've got a few strikes against me that probably wouldn't impress an admissions committee."

"Well, my older sister is the Associate Dean for Admissions at UK Law."

Sam was impressed, his interest piqued.

"The old bitch is a tyrant. She thinks she should've been born Wyman Trammell, Jr. instead of me: The Great Family Disappointment. I was supposed to be president one day, not Moss Fork's town drunk."

Sam wasn't sure what to say to Wyman's sudden candor.

"Anyway," Wyman continued, as though his family history was no big deal, "she thinks she's Billy Badass because she ended up Associate Dean for Admissions, but I think it had more to do with the large donation my father made to the law school before he died than any brilliance on her part. Still, I can get you an interview with her. She won't do it gladly because she hates me. The feeling is mutual, but blood is thicker than water. She'll see you. Of course, the fact that you know me will be a mark against you that you'll have to overcome. You interested?"

God, was he ever, but Sam was wary. "I don't know. There's still the issue of my job, and law school full time would make that difficult. I can't quit working. I have a family to support."

"I'll be your only client, and I'll pay you twice what you're worth to work for me part time."

Sam was sorely tempted.

"And don't look at it as charity. The more obligated to me you are, the longer you'll stay here. I'm doing this for purely selfish reasons. I'm a bastard and a drunk, and you know it. Don't make the mistake of thinking I'm being nice."

"Right." But the truth was, working with Wyman wouldn't be so bad. Sam had always liked him, despite Wyman's abrasive, curmudgeonly demeanor. He was like Bobby—all rough and prickly on the outside and a decent man on the inside. Then there was the fact that Wyman had forgotten more about practicing law than Sam could ever glean from law school alone. He could learn a lot from Wyman, especially the more wily aspects of the profession that weren't necessarily taught in textbooks. The experience he would gain from working with Wyman would be invaluable.

"Besides," said Wyman, a mischievous glint in his eye, "I'll give you all the cases where I know the poor saps won't pay."

Sam laughed, remembering TJ's prediction he would never be able to turn down someone in need, even if they couldn't afford a lawyer. Apparently, Wyman suspected the same thing.

"So, what do you say?"

"Can I think about it?"

Wyman nodded. "Just don't think too long. Spring semester starts January 10th. Today is December 3rd. We need to get the ball rolling. There's not much time to set up the interview and get your application before the committee. The short notice will drive my sister up the wall. I'm sure we'll be breaking all kinds of application deadlines." He sounded almost gleeful at the prospect.

"Okay," said Sam. "TJ left today to go on a Christmas shopping trip and won't be back until Sunday, but I'll talk to her about it as soon as I can. It's something I'd like to talk to her about in person."

"All right. Oh, and a word of caution. If you decide you want me to set up an interview with my sister, don't be late. Like I said, she's a tyrant and a stickler for shit like punctuality. You'll blow it for sure if you're late."

"Right. I'll keep that in mind."

"Don't forget it."

Sam nodded, and they went back to talking about the McCray case, but he was only halfway paying attention. After everything that had happened—with Jessica when he'd tried to go to Stanford and with TJ when he'd tried to go to Berkeley—was he an idiot for even considering law school again? Was he just tempting the Sam Winchester curse to screw with his family all over again?

Even with Wyman's generous offer, Sam was far from sure it was worth the risk.

_**TBC**_


	31. Chapter 31

**_A/N: This chapter is another transitional one, but don't forget about me with all the stress and excitement of the holidays because, next week, things will heat up again until the end. Also next week, Dean will be back, and there's even a tad of Bobby. Only three more chapters left after this one. Happy Holidays, everyone!_  
**

**_As always, thank you so very much to my betas Cartersdaughter, skzb, and Catsluver. Thanks also to those of you who reviewed as guests!  
_**

**Chapter 31**

Sam hid his surprise when he opened the front door to see Jeremy standing on the porch. Jeremy looked up, eyes growing wide with a holy-shit look on his face.

Sam, who was standing, balancing on his forearm crutches with his leg braces on, got a sense of satisfaction that he was several inches taller than Jeremy. He didn't say anything in greeting, just looked down at Jeremy, unimpressed.

Jeremy cleared his throat, like he was uncomfortable. "Sam?"

"Jeremy?" Sam replied flatly.

"Can I—do you mind if I come in?"

"TJ isn't here." Sam was glad. She and Fern had gone with Aunt Joyce to Lexington for a Christmas shopping weekend and "hen party," as Vern called it, meaning they would be doing women's stuff that neither he nor Sam would have any interest in. The girls had taken the twins with them and were staying with some of TJ's family who lived in Lexington.

TJ had hardly talked to Jeremy in the last few months, and it was obvious she was no longer carrying a torch for him; but the fewer times she interacted with Jeremy the better, as far as Sam was concerned. He didn't trust Jeremy and never would.

"Actually, I was hopin' to talk to you," said Jeremy.

Sam raised his brows. "Why?"

"Vern's not here either?"

Sam shook his head. "He took Fern's car to the car wash."

Jeremy gave a short nod. "Good. I'd like to talk to you alone. I got a proposition for you."

What was with the propositions? First Wyman yesterday and now Jeremy. Sam was getting more offers than a high-priced hooker in Vegas. He and TJ would apparently have a lot to discuss when she got back home tomorrow.

There was no love lost between Sam and Jeremy, but Sam was curious to know what Jeremy had to say. He maneuvered himself on his crutches to where he could back away from the door, leaving it open in an obvious, if sort of rude, invitation for Jeremy to come in.

Sam crutched over to the couch, swinging his legs quickly and efficiently with each step. He felt Jeremy's eyes on his back and wondered what Jeremy was thinking. The bastard better not be feeling sorry for him.

Sam hated that he didn't have a better way to sit down other than essentially falling back onto the couch, but there was really no other way to do it except to plunk down awkwardly because of his stiffly-braced legs. Once he was sitting, he laid his crutches across the section of the couch where no one was sitting and then released his braces into free mode so he could bend his knees.

There was no look of pity on Jeremy's face, which was good, because Sam just might've found some way to kick his ass if there had been. Jeremy was still standing just inside the door, which he'd shut behind him. Sam nodded toward Vern's recliner, and Jeremy sat down in it.

Sam waited, giving him a hard stare.

Jeremy was sitting forward in the recliner, elbows resting on his knees and gazing idly at the car keys he was fiddling with in his hand. A long silence stretched out, a game of chicken to see who would speak first. Sam was determined it wouldn't be him. He had nothing to say to Jeremy Suggs.

Finally, Jeremy's piercing gray eyes (they were kind of creepy, in Sam's opinion) rose to meet Sam's gaze. "I owe you an apology," Jeremy stated.

Sam gritted his teeth. He wasn't one to hold a grudge, but Jeremy had been a colossal dickweed. Sam wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to get past the fact that Jeremy tried to destroy his marriage and break apart his family. Jeremy had taken advantage of TJ when she was at her most vulnerable twice: once as a naïve teenager who'd been in love with him and then when she woke up with amnesia.

As if reading Sam's mind, Jeremy said, "I know 'sorry' isn't enough for everything I've done, but I just wanted you to hear it. I've been...lost these last few years. Life ain't turned out exactly like I thought it would—not even close."

Sam almost snorted with irony. He could identify with that, with life taking an unexpected left turn or two, but he kept his features coolly impassive. Jeremy was still a dick.

"I know it's no excuse," Jeremy went on, staring at his keys again, "but I've been tryin' to find myself for a long time, to figure out who the hell I am. I think I might be, finally, on the right path." He shook his head, self-loathing in his voice. "Those couple of months after TJ woke up from the coma—well, let's just say I'm ashamed of the person I saw lookin' back at me in the mirror.

"But it was like a piece of my old life had been restored to me. TJ was back, and she was the _same. _It was like she'd stepped out of the past like a gift. She loved me again. I realize now how warped my thinking was, how pathetic; but at the time, I saw her love for me as a second chance, not the misguided feelings of a girl with severe amnesia. I wanted to redeem myself with her for what I'd done in the past, for using her, and I couldn't see beyond that. For what it's worth," he lifted his eyes to Sam, expression earnest, "I never meant to hurt her. I really have always loved her, and I always will." Jeremy held up his hand. "And I don't mean that as a threat, and I'm not tryin' to be a jerk."

Sam nodded once. He understood.

"I was such an arrogant bastard. That day you showed up at my house, I said some things that were downright shitty, and I'm sorry." Jeremy's mouth curved downward in a self-deprecating manner. "I guess you showed me. You won." He stopped jiggling his keys and placed his hands on his knees. "Thanks for not filling my ass full of buckshot."

"I thought about it many times," Sam informed him honestly.

A nod and a rueful smile. "I bet you did. I bet that brother of yours did, too. I get the feeling you two ain't jokers to mess around with."

That put Sam on alert, and he studied Jeremy intently. Did Jeremy know something he shouldn't about Sam's past?

Jeremy glanced down, not seeming to notice Sam's scrutiny. His next words gave no indication he knew anything about Sam's history or the real story of what had happened with Liv. He met Sam's gaze. "You probably won't believe me, but I'm glad Nelly chose you. She'll be happy with you. You're the better man. I've got some work to do in that department, but I'm trying, starting right now."

Sam frowned. "What do you mean?"

Jeremy drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "I wanna make things up to you and TJ—or at least try."

"How?"

Jeremy cleared his throat, looking a bit nervous. "How would you feel about livin' in my house?"

Sam gave him a what-the-hell look.

"I don't mean with me in it," Jeremy rushed on. "As you know, my mother is in a mental hospital in Lexington, probably for the rest of her life." He swallowed hard, his jaw clenching for a second. He glanced away from Sam and then back. "I just bought a place in Lexington, and I'm gonna try to pursue my interest in music—doing what, I'm not sure yet. Maybe put together a band, get more serious about the blog I write. Who knows? I put the bank up for sale. I'm cuttin' my ties to Moss Fork. Well, most of 'em, anyway."

Sam's brows went up at that news.

"If I have to, I'll put the farm up for sale too, but..." He trailed off, frowning. "It's been in my family for generations. It was special to my parents, especially my dad. It's where I grew up. TJ, too, in a way. We pretty much split our time between her farm and ours when we were little."

"You're not ready to let it go."

Jeremy shook his head. "No, I'm not ready to let it go. I want it to be in familiar hands. I want someone livin' there who might love it like I do."

Sam understood. TJ's childhood home was certainly not the richest in terms of monetary worth, but Sam had come to love it—maybe even more so than TJ did. It was the first real home Sam had ever had, and he would never take it for granted. It was priceless in his eyes, and he wanted Robby and Sami Joy to grow up, if not there, then a place like it. "So what exactly are you offering?" Sam asked.

"I need someone to manage the farm and keep the house in good repair, that sort of thing. I'm asking if you and TJ might want to live there and keep an eye on things, run things. If you don't want to fool with the tobacco, I understand. Tobacco farming's about dead, anyway, especially here in eastern Kentucky. You could experiment if you wanted. I know you and TJ are all into healthy stuff."

Sam arched an inquisitive brow, and Jeremy's mouth quirked dryly. "Get used to people knowing your business if you stay here in Moss Fork. Not much gets past the gossip mill."

"Right."

"Hell, you could try organic farming or some granola shit like that," Jeremy suggested. "I don't care."

"I may go back to law school. I got an offer yesterday I need to talk to TJ about. I won't have time to manage your farm."

"TJ could—"

"I want her to go back to school, too. I'm trying to talk her into it."

Jeremy's eyes widened. "She doesn't want to?"

"She's...reluctant."

Jeremy looked like he wanted Sam to go on and explain, but Sam didn't. He didn't want to discuss TJ with Jeremy. She wasn't any of his business.

Jeremy regarded Sam expectantly for a moment, then hung his head and nodded. He'd gotten the message. "Well, if y'all do go back to school, that wouldn't be a problem. I've got a good foreman who's worked for us for years. The farm pretty much runs itself, but I'd still feel better if someone was there to keep an eye on things. Empty houses seem to go to ruin, you know?"

Sam nodded and thought, _Or become ideal homes for ghosts._

"Listen," said Jeremy, "just think about it. There's lots of pros. You'd still be close to Fern and Vern. It's a big house. There'd be plenty of room for you, TJ, and the twins."

"Thanks, but no."

Jeremy cast him a look. "Sam, I know you don't like me, but—"

"It's not that." Although it was. Kind of. Sam glanced at his forearm crutches pointedly. "The house would have to be modified for me to live there, to make it accessible. My chair won't fit through narrow doorways. They'd have to be widened. Plus, it's a two-story house. Stairs are a problem for me." _Although not as much as they used to be_, he thought with satisfaction.

That stopped Jeremy for a moment, and he appeared to be thinking. It had clearly not occurred to him that accommodations would have to be made for Sam's disability. Finally, he shrugged. "Well, do what you have to do, then. Hell, put in an elevator, ramps, whatever. I'll pay for anything that needs to be done."

"Thanks, but no thanks." Sam wasn't trying to sound like a dick and tried to keep his tone neutral, but there was no way he would ever accept Jeremy's charity.

"You think you should maybe talk about this with TJ before you turn me down flat?"

Sam was irritated by the question, and his shoulders tensed. "Is that a threat? You planning to go behind my back and make the same offer to her? You think I won't say no to her if she wants to live there?"

Jeremy appeared unfazed by Sam's hostility. The corner of his mouth went up into a knowing, crooked smirk, amusement in his pale eyes. "Would you say no to her?"

Sam rolled his neck, and some of the tension drained from his shoulders. He realized Jeremy wasn't being insolent, just the devil's advocate, and he thought about the question, then almost smiled. "Probably not."

Jeremy chuckled. "No, it wasn't a threat," he said, answering Sam's earlier question. He pointed to himself with both index fingers. "Reformed asshole here, remember? I won't go behind your back. I'll respect your decision—whether you ever talk to TJ about it not. I'm just asking you to give it some thought before you refuse."

Sam nodded. He would talk to TJ about it. Always.

**XXXXXXXX**

TJ padded over to the bed wearing her Ugg slippers. She had on red-flannel drawstring pajama pants with white reindeer printed on them and a matching flannel, long-sleeved tee that had a giant reindeer with a red nose on the front. Sam presumed it was supposed to be Rudolph.

Sam was lounging on TJ's bed—correction, their bed—doing some research on his laptop. He'd moved into her bedroom, since the bed was bigger than the one in the guest bedroom. His back was against some pillows, supported by the headboard, and he was wearing a hunter-green hoodie, his ever-trusty gray sweatpants, and white socks. His legs were underneath the thick blue comforter, but he was still cold.

Winter in the mountainous area of eastern Kentucky where Moss Fork was located was much colder than San Diego, and Sam found it hard to get warm. He would put on layer upon layer of clothing to get warm, only to find himself sweating and peeling it all off again. He had yet to figure out how to satisfactorily regulate his body temperature in this new climate.

The mild temps of San Diego were one of the few things he really missed about it, along with Dean. At least that would be remedied soon. Dean, Heather, and Bobby were all coming to Kentucky for Christmas. As for regulating his body temperature, Sam would get it right eventually. After all, he wasn't the only person with paraplegia who lived someplace cold. If others could do it, so could he.

TJ crawled onto the bed and sat on her knees next to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing his cheek. "Hi."

He closed up his laptop and carefully tossed it to the seat of his chair, which was next to the bed, then turned his face to her and smiled. "Hi."

She kissed him on the lips, slow and tender, with just a flick of her tongue over his teeth to give him a hint of what might come later. Rubbing her nose against his Eskimo style, she said, "I really missed you."

She'd gotten back from the Christmas shopping expedition earlier that afternoon, but they hadn't had a chance to be alone between unloading all the shopping bags, tending to Sami Joy and Robby, getting through dinner, getting the twins to bed, and then, finally, getting themselves ready for bed. TJ smelled like her flower-and-mint shampoo and lotion, and her long, dark, auburn-chestnut hair was still damp from her shower.

Sam gave her another peck on the lips, looking into her beautiful dark eyes. "I missed you, too." He traced her jawline with his knuckles.

She grabbed his hand, kissing the back of it. "You're cold. Your hand feels like a Popsicle."

He shrugged, and she moved to where she was straddling his lap, arms around his neck again. "Maybe I should lick you," she said, smiling coyly.

He grinned. "Uh, can we talk first?"

She turned her head slightly sideways and gave him a suspicious look out of the corner of her eye. "What could be more important than me licking you like a Popsicle?"

He laughed. "Believe me. We'll get to that eventually."

She smiled and took both of his hands, pressing them together into a prayer pose, then rubbed the outside of them with her hands to warm him. It felt good. That and her body heat so close to him gave off more warmth than a cozy fire. "Okay," she said. "What do you wanna talk about?"

Suddenly, he wasn't sure where to begin. "How was the shopping trip?"

She gave him another suspicious look. "Sam, we told you and Daddy all about it at dinner."

"Yeah. But you kept having to get up and deal with the twins, so your account of the trip was kind of disjointed."

She huffed good-naturedly. It was difficult to have any kind of a conversation without getting interrupted by the twins for one reason or another. "The trip was fun. I got all my Christmas shopping done. You think Dean'll like the jacket I got him?"

She'd shown it to Sam earlier after they'd unloaded all the packages. It was a brown-leather jacket similar to the one Dean had inherited from their dad. Sam snorted. "Yeah, he'll like it. He's not hard to please. You could get him shaving cream and a skin mag, and he'd be thrilled."

She snickered. "What about Bobby? He's the only one I didn't buy anything for. I couldn't think what to get him. It's kind of hard, since I don't know him."

"Don't worry about it. I know just what to get him." Sam needed to make a trip to the liquor store for some Woodford Reserve. Bobby would be perfectly happy with a nice bourbon to add to his whiskey collection. "So, did you do anything else besides shop?"

"Yeah. My cousin Gloria—she's Aunt Joyce's oldest daughter—watched Robby and Sami Joy so that Mama, Aunt Joyce, and I could go get pedicures. Katrina went with us, too." TJ rolled her eyes in ecstasy. "It was heavenly. I think the last time I had a real pedicure that came with a massage and the whole shebang was when I was seventeen, right before my Senior Prom."

Sam didn't tell her that she and her bridesmaids had all gone together to get their nails done the day before she married him. He didn't want to bring her down. "How were the twins?" he asked instead.

She pursed her mouth and raised her brows. "They were pretty good. They got cranky a few times, but they were fascinated by all the lights and decorations in the mall." Her eyes widened. "Oh, my goodness. I can't believe I forgot."

"What?"

She wriggled off his lap, not answering, and disappeared from the room, coming back a minute later with what looked like a five-by-seven photograph. She handed it to him, and he laughed. It was a picture of Sami Joy and Robby on Santa Claus's lap, a twin on each knee. They were dressed in matching red-and-green-plaid Christmas outfits. Robby's was a romper and Sami Joy's was a frilly dress. Both babies had pensive, unimpressed looks on their faces. In fact, Robby looked on the verge of tears. "I guess seven-month-olds aren't that enamored with Santa yet," Sam mused.

TJ smirked indulgently. "Yeah. You could say that. They were like, 'Who the heck is this big hairy man?'"

Sam chuckled and set the photo on the nightstand. TJ curled up beside him, pulling the covers up over herself and nestling her head in its usual place on his shoulder. He put his arm around her.

"So what did you want to talk about?" she asked.

He cleared his throat. "Wyman Trammell made me an interesting offer on Friday."

"Oh? What kind of offer?"

"He said if I was interested in going to law school at UK, he could get me an interview with the Dean for Admissions, who happens to be his sister."

TJ raised her head up and looked at him. "Really?"

"Yeah."

Laying her head back down, she said, "Holy cow. Can he get you another scholarship?"

"Sort of. He wants to pay my way."

"Seriously?" She sat up all the way this time and frowned. "Why?"

"He'll basically own me for at least a few years after I graduate. He wants to groom me to be a partner of sorts."

She took his hand and laced her fingers through his, palm to palm. He loved the heat and softness of her skin. "Is that what you want?" she asked.

"Yeah, it is," he answered truthfully. "Wyman thinks he has to bribe me to stay, but, actually, I could learn a lot from him, and I like Moss Fork. I could stay here for a long time. I don't care if I live in a big city."

"But what about Berkeley?"

"What about it?"

"Do you think you could get back in there?"

"I don't know. Probably. I never officially dropped out, just took a leave of absence. But it's too far away."

"Well, if you wanted to go back there, the twins and I would go with you," she offered.

He smiled and gazed into her eyes, running a thumb gently over her freckles. "You think?" Like he'd ever even consider leaving them behind to go to California.

She laughed a little sheepishly.

"I know you would come with me," he said, "but what about Fern and Vern?"

"Yeah," she said softly, an expression of regret crossing her features. "They'd be crushed if we took the twins and moved away." She tilted her head, studying him. "You'd blow off Berkeley because of them, because of my parents?"

"Yes. They're kind of—" He stopped, feeling a surge of unexpected emotion, and swallowed. "They're kind of like my parents, too."

She had one of those "aawww" looks on her face girls get when they think something is cute or touching. He rolled his eyes, and she laughed. "They love you too, Sam."

"Not only that," he went on, leaving the chick-flick moment behind, "but do you really want to be on your own caring for the twins? It's kind of nice having enough adults around to outnumber Robby and Sami Joy. If we were on our own, it would be one on one, and I think the twins might have a slight advantage," he said dryly.

"Lord, you got that right," TJ drawled. "Still, we should probably move out eventually. Robby and Sami Joy can't sleep in the dining room forever."

Sam cleared his throat again, remembering Jeremy's offer. It was generous, and Sam didn't think Jeremy had any ulterior motives. Still, he wasn't exactly thrilled about it.

TJ narrowed her eyes like she was trying to read him. She was starting to get that sixth-sense thing again where Sam was concerned, that ability to sense something wasn't right with him. She'd gotten pretty good at it before she'd had the stroke. "What?" she prompted.

He sucked in a breath through his teeth and let it out slowly. "Jeremy came over yesterday afternoon."

She arched a brow. "Is he still alive? Did you use your demon mojo to turn him into a frog?"

He quirked his mouth wryly. "You're hilarious."

"Ribbit, ribbit."

"TJ," he chided, feigning annoyance.

She grinned impishly. "Inappropriate?"

He smiled. "You used to say that to me all the time." He leaned toward her and kissed her, nibbling and sucking on her lower lip.

"Mmm," she murmured in appreciation. When she drew back, her lips were a little bee-stung and pinker than usual. She ran her finger over the bottom one, and there was something guileless and really sexy about the gesture that turned Sam on. "So, what happened?" she asked curiously.

He was mesmerized by her lips, couldn't take his eyes off them, and was about to kiss her again.

"Ground Control to Sam," she said, breaking his trance. "What did Jeremy want? I'm dying to know. Were you civil to each other?"

"Yeah." He held in a smile and kept his features annoyingly bland, withholding the rest of the story to build suspense and get her back for the frog comment.

TJ made a noise of frustration and rolled her eyes, then shook his shoulders with mock exasperation. "Come on," she drawled impatiently. "What did y'all talk about? What did he say?"

"He offered us his house," Sam said, as if it were nothing out of the ordinary. He was trying to hide the fact that living in Jeremy Suggs' house was the last thing he wanted.

She frowned, looking perplexed. "Huh?"

"He wants us to live there."

"Ha. Funny. Be serious."

"I am."

"Why would he want us to live with him?"

"He doesn't. He's moving to Lexington."

TJ zoned out for a moment, a faint tinge of sadness coloring her features. Her mouth curved into a wistful smile. "Maybe he's gonna follow his dreams after all."

Sam tried not to be jealous of her reaction. She would always think of Jeremy as family and would want him to be happy, and Sam respected that. "He's put the bank up for sale," Sam explained, "but he's not ready to get rid of the farm. He wants us to live in the house and sort of manage things, make sure the house stays in good repair, that sort of thing." Sam huffed faintly. "He said we could scrap the tobacco and try organic farming if we wanted to."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "Really? What did you say?"

"I told him I couldn't, that the house would have to be modified so I could access everything."

"What did he say?"

"He said he'd pay to have it done. Even said he'd have an elevator installed."

She sat there for a moment looking sort of numb, staring idly down at her hands.

Sam took her hands in his. "What do you think?"

She raised her eyes to his face, her expression incredulous. "Are you even considering it?"

He shrugged. "I thought I would see what you thought. I wouldn't be able to do much managing if I go back to law school full time. I'll be commuting back and forth to Lexington and working part time for Wyman. Three hours of my day alone will be spent in the car. It'll be tough."

"I could do the managing," she ventured. "Jeremy's foreman practically runs that farm in his sleep, anyway."

"You think you could handle it, even with taking care of the twins? Plus, I was kind of, you know, hoping you'd go back to school, too. We could commute together. We'd have to find someone to watch the twins, though. That could be a problem. I'm still not comfortable with putting them in daycare, but maybe we could find a private babysitter that didn't cost a fortune."

Her eyes shifted away and she frowned.

"Look, I know how you feel about school, but if we could somehow work it out where we had similar schedules... I mean, I'd rather spend that time in the car commuting with you than by myself."

"The twins wouldn't be a problem," she said quietly.

"Why not? You gonna let Rocket watch them?"

She nudged his shoulder with her hand and poked her tongue in her cheek. "No, of course not. He'd eat all the pureed sweet potatoes himself, and there wouldn't be any left for the twins."

Sam chuckled and TJ smiled, but then she sighed, looking like she was about to make a confession. "Aunt Joyce offered to watch the babies if I wanted to go back to school. She's lonely since Uncle Joe Mack passed. She said she'd watch the twins for free. She loves kids—she had four of her own, you know."

"So, you talked about going back to school this weekend?" Sam couldn't keep the hope from his voice.

She shrugged. "Aunt Joyce and my mom got it all worked out. Funny how Wyman made you that offer. My mom and Aunt Joyce came up with almost the same scenario you have, only they had you getting another scholarship instead of Wyman paying your way. And they had us moving in with Aunt Joyce instead of moving into Jeremy's house. Like that would ever cross their minds," she added cynically. "Aunt Joyce has a big farmhouse with four bedrooms, and Colleyville is thirty minutes closer to Lexington than Moss Fork. It would take an hour off the commute each day."

Sam raised his brows. It sounded perfect—not to mention he wouldn't have to swallow his pride and take charity from Jeremy or live in a house that would remind TJ of her old love every day.

"They just left out one important detail," said TJ.

"What's that?"

"I'm not going back to school."

Sam let out a breath, disappointed. "TJ—"

She put a finger over his mouth to silence him, amusement in her eyes. "But don't worry, I'm not gonna make you live in Jeremy's house."

He tightened his lips into a thin line and glanced away, relieved she didn't want to live at Jeremy's but frustrated she wouldn't consider school.

"Thanks," she said.

He turned back to her. "For what?"

There was a sparkle in her eye. "You'd move into Jeremy's house if I asked you to, wouldn't you?"

"No," he said, but he was nodding yes.

She laughed. The way he'd nodded was similar to a scene at the end of the _The Breakfast Club, _one of her favorite movies. "I love you," she said, leaning in for a kiss.

He framed her face with his hands, stopping her. "TJ," he said, growing serious, "I want you to go back to school."

Her features clouded. "I'd have to start over, Sam."

"You don't know that. Maybe..."

She drew back, shaking her head, and he let his hands slide down to her shoulders. "We've been over this a thousand times," she said. "I don't need a career anymore. I'm content to be a mom."

"That was never all you wanted before," he reminded her. "What about _your_ dreams, Teej?"

"Dreams change. I never had two little precious babies before. There's nothing wrong with being a stay-at-home mom. It's the hardest, most exhausting, most wonderful, most important job in the world. If there's one thing I've learned, soccer moms don't get the respect they deserve."

"That might be true, but what about your desire to get out of Moss Fork? I know living on the farm was never what you wanted."

With her finger, she traced the base of his neck where his collarbone began. "I don't care where I live, as long as it's where you and the twins are."

He gently took hold of her finger and lifted it to his lips.

"So, it's settled, then," she said, a hint of excitement in her voice. "You're going back to law school."

Sam felt a stab of dread. "Maybe."

Her brows went up. "Maybe? I thought you'd decided. Sounds like a deal you can't refuse."

"I don't know. I've had deals I couldn't refuse before, and they ended in disaster."

"What do you mean?" she asked, brows knitting together.

"I got a full ride to Stanford—Jessica got brutally murdered. I got a full ride to Berkeley—you stroked out and forgot I existed."

Guilt etched her features.

He intertwined his fingers with hers and squeezed. "Hey, it wasn't your fault, and we'll make new memories. But the point is: Full ride to UK? What's gonna happen this time?" He swallowed hard, sickened by the thought. "Something happens to the twins? Bobby? Dean? Your parents?"

TJ kissed him and then rested her forehead against his. "Nothing will happen, Sam." She sat back and looked him in the eye, her warm gaze adamant. "You're not cursed. Third time's a charm. You're gonna go to UK Law, graduate with honors because you're freakin' amazing, and be an awesome lawyer."

"I don't want anyone else I love to get hurt or worse, TJ. It's not worth the risk."

She exhaled, looking pensive. "I know you have every reason to be gun-shy, Sam, but please give it one more try. I think you've paid your dues. You deserve a break for once. Don't pass up Wyman's offer. It might be your last chance."

"Maybe I'm just not meant to go to law school. How many times am I gonna tempt fate before I get the message?"

"Three. Give it one more try, Sam," she urged stubbornly.

He gave her a measured look. "I will if you will."

She rolled her eyes. "Nice try, but I'm not goin' back to school."

Sam didn't comment, knowing there was nothing he could say that he hadn't already said before. He was trying to maintain his patience with her, but he was irritated she was being so obstinate.

"Look," she said, getting off the subject of her education as if she sensed his aggravation, "if you don't want to tempt fate, then let it decide for you."

He frowned. "What?"

"Don't you have to interview with Wyman's sister? Doesn't your admission to UK Law pretty much hinge on how that interview goes?"

"Yeah, I guess." He wondered where she was going with this.

"Okay. Then, there's your answer. If she likes you, you get in. It was meant to be. You become a lawyer and we all live happily ever after. End of story. You don't have to worry about pissing off any mystical supreme beings or your curse or whatever. If Wyman's sister totally hates you and you don't get in, then fine. Said powers that be have spoken, and you let the idea of law school go. We still live happily ever after, and you find a new dream."

He had to admit her rationale had merit. He grabbed her Rudolph pajama shirt and tugged, pulling her to him, her face close to his. "You're pretty wise for an eighteen-year-old."

"Thanks," she said with a smile. Her brown eyes darkened to glowing embers. "And you're pretty hot for a senile twenty-seven-year-old."

He kissed her.

"Does that mean you'll at least do the interview?" she said against his lips.

He hesitated, still unsure. But what could it hurt to do the interview and see what happened? "Yes," he answered, his voice coming out husky.

She curled her fingers in his hair and kissed him deeper, showing him how pleased she was by his answer.

_**TBC**_


	32. Chapter 32

**_A/N: Thanks, as always, to Catsluver, Cartersdaughter, and skzb for doing a wonderful job beta'ing this fic._  
**

**_Thanks to everyone who reviewed as guests. For those who celebrated Christmas, hope you had a great holiday. If you're out there braving the crowds for after-Christmas sales, may the Force be with you. :)  
_**

**Chapter 32**

"So, I think having two mechanics to help with the lights made my dad more out of control than usual. He really went overboard this year," TJ commented. Bobby and Dean had helped Vern figure out how to wire even more electricity than usual from a generator, giving Vern extra juice to fuel his winter wonderland.

"Mm-hm," Sam agreed absently. He wasn't very talkative tonight, just staring at the small fake tree on the coffee table as if he were mesmerized.

The green, red, and white Christmas lights Vern had strung together and hung on the outside of the house twinkled brightly. Using baling wire, he'd also shaped lights into countless figures like Santa Claus, elves, reindeer, ice skaters, presents, toys—the list was endless—and placed them in the front yard. The glow from it all could be seen in spite of the fact that the curtains in the living room were drawn.

Her dad usually left the lights up until after New Year's Eve, and there was always a procession of cars driving by to see what lights Vernon Nelek had added to his yard that year. The house was far from the road, but people knew it was all right to come down the drive to the farm, and TJ got used to the crunch of gravel underneath tires as unobtrusive visitors stole looks at Vern's masterpiece from their cars.

The twins had been completely awed by their first view of their grandfather's lights, and both babies had thrown conniptions when it was time to go back in the house. TJ would have let them stay out longer, but it was so cold she was afraid they'd get frostbite.

It was now the day after Christmas. Heather hadn't made it to Kentucky. She'd decided to go on a hunt at the last minute with Ellen and Jo—two women hunters that Dean, Bobby, and Sam all knew—much to Dean's obvious worry and displeasure. The subject of Heather had been off limits since Dean and Bobby had made it to Moss Fork on Christmas Eve.

Bobby and Dean would be leaving tomorrow, and their impending departure cast a bittersweet mood over the evening. Everyone had enjoyed their company, and it was clear Sam loved having them there. Dean, Bobby, and TJ's parents were in the kitchen sipping bourbon or eggnog spiked with bourbon. A laugh or a chuckle could be heard occasionally, but considering they were imbibing pretty strong spirits, they were more subdued than TJ would have thought.

Sam was sitting next to her on the couch. The lights outside, the crackling fire in the fireplace, the large Fraser fir in a corner of the room with what seemed like a million silly ornaments her parents had collected over the years, and even the fake tree on the coffee table gave the living room a warm, ethereal atmosphere.

The artificial tree was about two feet tall and was one of those where the plain white lights and tiny ornaments all came prepackaged with the plastic limbs of the tree. TJ wondered why her parents had bought it. It was kind of puny by Nelek standards. Fern and Vern were usually scornful of fake trees and always insisted on getting a real tree every year.

It was a pain trying to keep Robby and Sami Joy away from the little tree and its mini ornaments, which were a major choking hazard. Both twins were starting to pull up and stand with the help of a coffee table or whatever object they could find to hold on to, and TJ had caught them reaching for the ornaments several times. When she'd complained about it, Fern had set the small tree on higher ground, but tonight, for some reason, it once again sat on the coffee table.

TJ's head was on Sam's shoulder, and she traced lazy circles on his chest, loving the feel of his steely pectoral muscles underneath the new sweater he was wearing. It was a plain, soft, tightly-knit, wool sweater in a dark coffee brown that TJ had gotten for him from the Gap as a Christmas present. It wasn't the kind of thing he usually wore, but he looked totally hot in it, and it also kept him warm.

"You're so quiet tonight," she observed.

"Mm-hm."

"You don't wanna hang out with Dean and Bobby, since it's their last night here?"

Sam's arm was around her, and he gave her an affectionate squeeze. "Maybe in a little bit. I'm pretty content where I am."

She smiled and rose up to give him a kiss on his cheek, feeling a flutter in her stomach when she got a whiff of Eau de Sam—a mixture of his aftershave, shampoo, and soap. Then she nestled her head back on his shoulder and resumed her leisurely exploration of his chest muscles.

"You know," he said, "that tree has some really interesting ornaments."

"Interesting?" she echoed, looking at the tall tree in the corner. "That's one word for them. 'Wacko' comes to mind. Did you see the ornaments my dad added this year, the Santa and reindeer butts that make a farting noise when you press on them?"

Sam huffed out a soft laugh. "Yeah. Dean was especially fascinated by those."

TJ snickered. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Right." There was a smile in Sam's voice. He paused and then said, "Actually, I wasn't talking about the ornaments on the big tree. I was talking about the ones on the small tree."

She lowered her brows and frowned in confused surprise. "The one on the coffee table?"

"Uh-huh."

She peered at the small, twinkling tree, studying it and trying to find anything remotely interesting about it. The ornaments that came with it were simple balls in the colors of red, green, and gold—definitely too normal for her parents. She wondered again why her mom had bought it. "I don't see anything on it that compares to the farting butts," TJ said dryly.

Sam chuckled, and she loved the rumble of his chest under her cheek. "Sit up for a second," he said.

She did, thinking maybe he needed to get up for some reason, but instead of transferring to his chair, he levered himself to where his elbows were on his knees and leaned toward the little tree, scrutinizing it closely. She watched as he reached forward and plucked what she thought at first was an ornament from one of the branches. "Huh," he noised in a perplexed tone, a little crease between his brows. He sat back against the sofa, holding it to show her. The "ornament" was actually two rings.

Her heart instantly started to pound.

"Now, see, these look interesting." His voice was that husky tiger purr that never failed to wrap her in warmth and stir something deep in her core. One of the rings he held was a gorgeous diamond solitaire, and the other one was a plain gold wedding band.

Her voice came out strange, like it belonged to someone else. "Is—are those what I think they are?" She wanted to reach for them, but her arms felt strangely numb.

He took her left hand and slid the plain wedding band and then the engagement ring onto her fourth finger. The rings had been repaired and fit her perfectly, and they complemented each other.

Her eyes quickly welled with tears.

"TJ?" he said, his soft hazel eyes looking into hers, "I love you, and I want to be with you for the rest of my life."

A sound that was a mixture of a laugh and a sob escaped her.

"Will you be my wife?"

She was speechless as the tears spilled down her cheeks.

He wiped away the moisture with his thumb. "Are you gonna answer me?" he asked with a tender smile.

She sniffed, then nodded, her whole body trembling with emotion. "Yes," she answered fervently. "Of course I'll be your wife."

He pressed his lips to her mouth for one of the most romantic kisses she'd ever had in her life, then rested his forehead against hers, a cagey grin in his voice. "That's how I did it."

She laughed, her heart overflowing with happiness and adoration for her husband. She wrapped her arms around his neck, then kissed him passionately. He'd done it. He'd recreated the night he proposed to her, and it was beautiful and sweet and everything she'd ever dreamed of. When they finally came up for air from the kiss, she said, "I love you, Sam."

He smiled, his love for her shining in his eyes.

Suddenly, TJ heard a sniffle, and it wasn't coming from her. She froze, listening, and then rose up to look over the back of the couch. In the opening of the doorway to the kitchen area, Dean, Bobby, and her parents were each standing there, all grinning from ear to ear except for her mom, who was bawling tears of joy. Vern had his arm around her, idly rubbing her shoulder.

TJ rolled her eyes and looked at Sam. "We have an audience."

He quirked his mouth, his dimples doing their thing. "They knew I was planning to do this. I guess I should have waited until everyone went to bed, but I don't know. It just seemed like the right time."

"Well, since they were all in on the conspiracy..." TJ shrugged, letting him know it was okay. "Besides, we're sitting on Dean's bed," she pointed out, meaning the couch.

Dean came over and clapped Sam on the back, chuckling. "Sammy, you're smoother than I thought. Maybe there's still hope for you."

Fern gave Sam a hug. "That was just beautiful, hon."

He returned the hug, shrugging his brows uncomfortably in reaction to all the attention. Vern brought the Woodford, and Bobby helped him carry glasses into the living room. Fern went back and got the eggnog. Once everyone had a glass of either eggnog or bourbon, Dean said, "I'd like to propose a toast."

Sam eyed him warily.

"What?" Dean questioned indignantly with comically arched brows. "Dude, why do you always freak out when I want to give a toast?"

Sam's expression remained dubious. Dean rolled his eyes, then spoke. "Here's to my little brother, Sam, and to TJ, my sister-in-law." He held up his low-ball glass. "May your love for each other grow stronger with each passing day...and may you always triumph over any evil fuglies, crazy-assed humans, or retrograde amnesia that might come your way."

Vern snickered.

"Well, that's lovely, Dean," cooed Fern. She'd said it as if the things Dean mentioned were normal things every couple had to face at one time or another.

TJ mused that her parents fit in a little too easily with the strange lives of the Winchesters. Then again, her parents had always been weird.

They all clinked glasses. Sam tilted his head pensively after taking a pull of his bourbon. "That was actually halfway decent, Dean."

Dean looked proud of himself. "Told you."

TJ sipped her spiked eggnog, trying not to laugh at the wry smirk on Bobby's face. He clearly loved Sam and Dean in his own gruff, paternal way. TJ had gleaned that much just from being around him the few days he'd been in Moss Fork. Underneath the rough exterior, Bobby Singer was a sweetheart. And he didn't act uncomfortable around her because of her amnesia, either—a huge plus in TJ's book. He'd put her at ease the moment she'd first met him. Again.

She thumbed the wedding rings on her ring finger and smiled at the memory of Sam's proposal, marveling again at how lucky she was to have such an amazing husband. He'd managed to do the impossible. He'd given her back at least one of her memories—and this time, she would hold on to it forever.

**XXXXXXXX**

Someone was shaking Sam's shoulder, and no matter how much he tried to sink back into the comfortable oblivion of a deep sleep, the intruder wouldn't stop.

"Sam," barked that same intruder in a harsh whisper. "Wake up."

Sam was lying on his stomach, and he pushed himself up a little with his hands so that he could turn his head toward the voice. When he saw it was Dean, he let his head fall back down to the pillow and closed his eyes. "Dean?"

"Sam," Dean hissed, "I need to talk to you."

There was something urgent and a little frantic in Dean's voice that put Sam on alert, despite the fact that his brother was whispering. Sam cocked an eye open. "What's wrong?"

"Get up. I need to talk to you."

Sam began the process of flipping onto his back while Dean helped with lifting the covers out of the way. TJ stirred but didn't wake. She was lying on her stomach, facing toward Sam, her body snuggled under the covers up to her chin. Sam wanted to kiss the freckles on her nose but resisted, since Dean seemed impatient and agitated.

Once Sam was settled in his chair, he followed Dean to the living room just as Bobby was coming out of the guestroom, bleary-eyed and frowning. Dean sat on the edge of the sofabed while Bobby sat in Vern's recliner. Sam remained in his chair, pushing himself closer to the hearth and the dying embers of the fire. Dean had barely let Sam take the time to throw on his sweatpants, and his upper body was bare. He was freezing.

Dean's brows were drawn into the telltale winged vee that indicated he was worried about something. "Just got a call from Ellen. Heather and Jo are missing."

The news hung ominously in the air.

Sam tensed and swallowed, knowing how that must be affecting Dean, how worried his brother must be. "What happened?"

"They're in Indiana, a place called Nulty. They were hunting a djinn and found the warehouse where their intel said its lair was. They were all together, and then Ellen turned around to say something to Jo, and both Jo and Heather were gone. Just disappeared into thin air." He looked at Bobby. "Ellen called as soon as she could. Aside from the fact that Heather and I..." Dean trailed off and glanced away, jaw rigid. When he turned back to Sam and Bobby, his features were like steel. "In addition to the fact that Heather is my girlfriend, the three of us here in Kentucky are the closest hunters. Ellen said she's searched the warehouse top to bottom, and there was no sign of Jo or Heather. She needs our help."

Bobby nodded grimly. "I'll get my things together."

A million things went through Sam's head. He knew what it was like to find a loved one hanging from the ceiling of a djinn's lair, being slowly drained of blood by a gruesome shunt that diverted blood from a vein in the neck. He would never forget finding Dean that way. Sam's heart had stopped at the sight, and he'd doubled over with sickening despair when he thought his brother was already dead. It was still disturbing, all these years later—and Dean had survived.

What if Heather hadn't survived? What if Dean found her dead? Sam didn't want to think about what that would do to his already guilt-prone brother. Dean would never get over it, never forgive himself for not stopping Heather from being a hunter. There was no way Sam would let him go through that alone. If Heather was dead, Sam wanted—needed—to be with Dean to pick up the pieces. After all, Sam knew all too well what it was like to lose the girl you loved. "I'm going, too," he stated.

Dean shook his head. "No. Bobby and I got it."

Sam clenched his jaw. "I'm going." Dean shared a look with Bobby, and Sam rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on. I can at least help with research, help you come up with other places the djinn might have taken Jo and Heather."

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face, then looked Sam somberly in the eye. "Sam, you've got that interview."

"I know. Doesn't matter." The interview with Wyman's sister, the Dean for Admissions at UK Law, had been scheduled for Wednesday morning. It was the first and only opening the dean had been able to squeeze Sam in. It was now two a.m. Monday morning.

"No," said Dean, shaking his head. "What if it's not enough time? It only gives us two days."

"Dean, I'm going with you."

"No. It's a little too déjà vu. I fucked things up for you last time, Sammy. I'm not gonna have that on my head again."

Dean was talking about Sam's interview to get into law school at Stanford. He'd asked Sam to help him find their dad and had promised he would have Sam back in time for his interview. Sam had gotten back in time, but he'd also found Jessica murdered. He'd almost burned to death himself, along with her body, in their apartment. He would have died if Dean hadn't pulled him out.

"Let me help, Dean," Sam insisted. "Just because I'm in this chair—"

"It's got nothing to do with that, Sam!" Dean snapped. He looked around, as if listening to see if he might've woken anyone with his outburst and, also, to make a point. In a quieter but no less intense voice, he said, "You want history to fuckin' repeat itself? Dammit, you've got a family now. Things are finally back on track with TJ. Chair or no chair, I'm not gonna be the one who puts you at risk or makes you miss that interview."

Sam glanced at Bobby, who held up his hands. "Don't get me involved in your lovers' quarrel," Bobby grumbled. He stood up. "I'm goin' to get my stuff. I'll be ready in ten minutes," he said to Dean.

"I'll be ready in twenty," Sam said stubbornly. "I just need time to get my stuff together and explain what's happening to TJ."

Dean looked pissed off, his features hard. "Fine. But if you're not out in twenty minutes, we're leaving your ass."

Sam was already pushing his way down the hallway to the room he shared with TJ before Dean finished speaking. He eased into the bedroom, shutting the door quietly behind him, and wheeled around to TJ's side of the bed, swiveling his chair sideways so he'd be flush to the bed and could reach her easier. Her face was turned away from him, and he reached over and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. "TJ?" he said softly.

She was in a deep sleep and didn't stir.

He shook her shoulder. "Teej, wake up."

She drew in a sleepy breath through her nose and let it out on a soft sigh.

Love for her washed through him. He wanted to wrap himself around her body and never let go. He tried to force away memories of what had happened to Jessica, couldn't stand the thought of something like that happening to TJ or the twins while he was gone—or even Fern and Vern. Dean was right. Sam had a family beyond Dean and Bobby now, and this scenario of leaving them unprotected, coupled with the impending interview, was eerily similar to what happened at Stanford.

Dean was worried about putting Sam at risk, but Sam wasn't worried about himself. He was more worried about what he might find in Moss Fork when he got back. He was torn between a lifetime of owing Dean for taking care of him—plus the simple truth that he loved his big brother and didn't want Dean to face whatever horror he might find in Indiana without him—and not wanting to leave his new family.

The rational part of Sam said TJ and the twins would be okay, that there was no Yellow-Eyed Demon out there anymore to cruelly take away those he loved. He'd been away from TJ and the twins before. In fact, she'd taken them Christmas shopping to Lexington and been gone a whole weekend. But the hunter part of him said that's what he'd thought about Jessica. He'd thought he'd left the dangerous life of hunting behind and she would be safe, but he couldn't have been more wrong.

Still, Dean needed him, whether his brother would ever admit it or not, and he'd been there for Sam too many times in the past for Sam not to return the favor now.

Sam combed his fingers through TJ's long, soft hair and then gave it a gentle tug. "Come on, Teej. I need to talk to you."

She groaned and then turned toward him, a groggy frown on her face, long lashes fluttering as she tried to focus on him in the dim light of the room. "Sam?"

"TJ," he said somberly, "I have to leave for a few days."

Her frown deepened. "Why?" she drawled in a sleep-filled voice. "Leave to go where?"

He drew in a long breath and exhaled. "Heather is missing."

TJ sat up and faced him, more alert. "What?"

Sam swiveled his chair back a little and faced her, hands resting on his wheels. "Ellen and Jo are old friends of ours who are hunters. They've been training Heather because Dean wouldn't." TJ already knew this, but Sam was telling her again.

She nodded. "Okay." Her tone urged him to go on.

"Ellen just called Dean a few minutes ago. She, Jo, and Heather were hunting a nocturnal creature called a djinn when both Jo and Heather disappeared."

There was a what-the-hell look on TJ's face. "What's a djinn?"

Sam didn't want to tell her. It must have shown on his face because she said dubiously, "I don't want to know, do I?"

He pursed his mouth, searching for something appropriate to say that wouldn't be a lie but that wouldn't freak her out. "It's okay. Don't worry. Dean and I killed one several years ago. It's nothing we can't handle. Plus, we've got Bobby and Ellen."

"How did you kill it? Did you shoot it?"

Sam rolled his shoulders, reluctant to tell her. "Uh, no."

TJ's brows went up. "How did you kill it?"

He cleared his throat. "Silver knife dipped in lamb's blood."

She threw up her hands in exasperation, her brown eyes wide and round. "Are you serious? That means you have to get close to it!"

Sam held his hands up, palms outward in supplication. "Yes, but it won't be me. I'll just be there to back up Dean, Bobby, and Ellen."

Several emotions flashed across TJ's face: worry, fear, doubt. "Sam, I hate to state the obvious here, but you use a wheelchair. What if that—what's it called again?"

"Djinn. It's Arabic, prevalent in Islamic mythology—except it's not a myth."

She rolled her eyes. "Of course. That makes me feel so much better."

He couldn't hold back a small smile.

"What if that _djinn_ chases you?"

"I can roll faster in my chair than I used to be able to run."

"Yeah. As long as it's a hard, smooth surface. What if the djinn lives in a bumpy cave somewhere or a swamp or something?"

He shrugged. "That's possible. It's a loner, likes ruins and abandoned places like that. If we find out it's in a place I can't access, I won't go; but I can at least help with research and try to figure out where it might have taken Jo and Heather. The more heads working on it the better. We don't have much time," he added grimly.

TJ pressed her fingers to her mouth, her brow creased with worry and thought. "But, don't Ellen and Jo live in Nebraska? Won't it take you a long time to drive there?"

"No. They were hunting the djinn in Indiana, a town called Nulty. It'll only take us about five hours to get there. Less, if Dean's driving."

With a sudden look of alarm, TJ said, "Sam, you have that interview on Wednesday with Wyman's sister."

He clenched his jaw. "I know."

"What if you don't get back in time?"

"I will." He was determined. He would make it happen.

She eyed him narrowly. "What if you don't?"

"I will," he insisted.

TJ's jaw tightened and she exhaled harshly through her nose, then looked away. Her hands were in her lap, fingers knotted together tensely.

Sam positioned his chair closer to the bed, pressed his palms down on his seat, scooted himself forward onto the edge of his cushion, then quickly transferred to the bed, sitting next to her. He put his arm around her shoulder, pulling her to him. "Hey, everything will be okay. I promise."

She huffed. "Yeah, right. You're cursed, remember?"

He chuckled and kissed the top of her head. "Hey, that's my line. You're supposed to tell me I'm not."

She touched his bare torso, tracing a finger over one of the many scars he had. He swallowed hard, instantly reacting to her tender touch. His blood pulsed through his body, warding off the chill he'd felt earlier.

"I'm afraid for you, Sam. I don't want you to get any more of these." She traced another scar over his rib.

He took her face gently in his hand and tilted her head up to look at him. Her eyes brimmed with unshed tears, making his heart ache. "I'll be back in time for my interview," he assured, "and I won't take any unnecessary risks. I just got you back, and I plan on growing very, very old with you."

Her chin was trembling, but she valiantly held back the tears. He kissed her chastely, tracing her jawline with his thumb as he savored the softness of her lips, lingering there for several seconds.

When he pulled away, he placed his hands on either side of her face, holding her close to him and gazing into her eyes with intensity. "After we leave, salt the doors and windows and be thorough. And do me a favor. I want you and your parents to be hermits the next few days until I get back. Don't answer the door to anyone, even people you trust, and don't go anywhere by yourselves. Tell Vern to take the next few days off and stay inside with you, Fern, and the twins. Like I said, if you have to go to the barn, go together."

Her expression was perplexed. "Why?"

Sam closed his eyes, resting his forehead on hers. He didn't want to scare her or worry her any more than she already was, and he didn't want to remind her of what had happened to Jessica. He was probably just having a case of post-traumatic stress or something like that. After all, he hadn't had any freaky visions warning him that anyone was in danger. "It's me being overly cautious," he told her. "Just don't answer the door or talk to anyone until I get back."

She pulled away and searched his eyes, and he knew she wasn't buying it. He traced the freckles on the bridge of her nose. "Do it for me. Okay? It's for my peace of mind. I want to know you're safe while I'm gone. I know it's overkill. Just humor me."

She looked troubled but nodded. "Okay."

"I love you, TJ. Kiss the twins for me."

She nodded and wrapped her arms around him, burying her head in the curve of his neck. "I love you, too, Sam."

It nearly killed him to break away from her, but he had to go. Dean was waiting.

**XXXXXXXX**

Dean heard a knock on the door that had to be Ellen. They'd only been at the Moonbeam Motor Inn for fifteen minutes, but Ellen wasn't wasting any time, and he was glad. It was seven a.m. Monday morning. They'd been on the road since two-thirty, and the clock was ticking. So many things at stake: Heather and Jo's lives, Sam's future.

Surprisingly, the dump of a motel they were in had a wheelchair accessible room, which would make things easier on Sam. Dean was still questioning the wisdom of bringing Sam along, but his brother was stubborn, and there was no doubt Sam would be an asset in the research department. Dean knew Sam's capabilities. He'd be decent backup, chair or no chair. Dean wasn't worried about that.

But the whole situation was just a little too much like all those years ago when Jessica had been killed, and he had a bad feeling and knew Sam did, too. If they couldn't find Heather and Jo, Sam would miss his interview, and they were already short on time. Sam's future hinged on that interview, and Dean didn't want to be the reason his brother missed it. Then again, nothing was more important than finding Heather and Jo, and Dean respected the sacrifice Sam was willing to make to help find them.

Added to the whole history-repeating-itself thing, Dean was afraid something could happen to Sam. The djinn had superhuman strength and speed. Sam was fast in his chair, but not that fast. Then again, no human was.

Dean wanted to punch a wall in frustration. Damn Heather for doing this to him. He wouldn't let himself think of what could be happening to her and tried to push away thoughts that he was too late. She had to be alive. His gut clenched sickeningly when he thought of the alternative.

Sam was sitting on the bed, back supported by a pillow and the headboard. His legs were stretched out in front of him, one jiggling slightly, but he seemed oblivious. Dean hoped Sam's legs weren't hurting. Sam gave no indication they were, but he'd gotten pretty good at hiding the pain, and sometimes even Dean couldn't tell. Sam's fingers were already clicking away on his laptop to see what he could do as far as figuring out where the djinn might have taken Heather and Jo.

Bobby sat at the tiny dinette table, his stoic demeanor a counterpoint to Dean's frenetic pacing. Dean was at the door in a split second when he heard the knock. When he opened the door, Ellen stood there, the same attractive lady he remembered with thick, long, dark hair and a warm smile, despite the worry in her eyes. He'd always thought Jo was lucky to have such a badass mom. "Dean?" she said in her slightly smoky voice. "It's good to see you, honey. Wish it was under better circumstances."

He took her into an embrace, hugging her tightly, then looked her in the eye. "Ellen?" His voice was gravelly and thick with emotion, a thousand questions about Heather warring within him.

She patted him on the shoulder and, as she walked past him into the room, said, "I'll tell you everything."

When Dean turned around, Bobby was standing and gave Ellen a hug in greeting. She patted him on the back. "Hey, you old coot."

"You're lookin' good as always, Ellen," Bobby complimented.

She gave him another quick hug and said something softly in his ear that made his eyes dart to Dean and then Sam uncomfortably, like he was looking to see if they were paying attention. If Dean didn't know better, he'd say Bobby was almost blushing.

Ellen chuckled at Bobby's unease and made her way to Sam. He set his laptop aside, and she bent down to hug him, holding him in a maternal embrace for a long time. When she finally broke away, she jerked her chin toward Sam's chair that was parked next to the bed. "You too good for us now that you've got a new set of wheels?"

Sam pursed his lips and shifted his shoulders, looking uncomfortable.

She took his face in her hands. "We've missed you, honey." Then, letting her hands drop to her thighs, she sat next to him on the edge of the bed.

"I've missed you, too, Ellen," Sam said quietly. "I'm sorry I haven't been in touch. It's been kind of crazy these past few years. I wasn't feeling too sociable after, you know..." He looked down at his legs.

She nodded.

"Then, with college and everything that happened with TJ—she's my wife—"

"I know who TJ is. Heather told us all about her and what happened, about the amnesia and everything." Ellen patted Sam's hand. "Now that TJ has her head on straight, it sounds like she's perfect for you. And twins? Talk about not doing anything half-assed."

Sam's quiet laugh was indulgent and fond. "Yeah. They keep us pretty busy."

"Well, once we—" Ellen stopped abruptly, pressing a fist to her lips for a second as if composing herself. "Once we find Jo and Heather, you'll have to show us pictures of those babies and get us all caught up on everything."

Sam's trademark wrinkled brow was the picture of concern and sympathy. "We'll find them, Ellen."

She gave a sharp nod. "Damn straight we will."

Sam cleared his throat and grabbed his laptop. "So, looks like there's two other abandoned warehouses here in Nulty besides the one you were in with Jo and Heather."

Ellen nodded again. "Yep. Already checked them out top to bottom."

Sam sighed. "All right. We need to get a map of the town and figure out every abandoned house, church, commercial building and—if there are any—caves or ruins within a thirty-mile radius of here. It's gonna take a lot of legwork to canvass that much area, but we don't have a choice."

Dean sat down across from Bobby at the table in defeat. "Dammit! It'll take days to cover all that."

No one said anything. Heather and Jo may not have days, if they were the djinn's main course. Dean hated himself for thinking it, but he hoped some other poor sap was keeping the djinn fed so that the bastard wouldn't start in on Jo and Heather right away. There was only one consolation: Djinn had the power to make their victims hallucinate, to make them believe they were living in whatever their version of a perfect world was. It made the victims docile and unable to escape. Dean hoped Heather and Jo were in la-la land instead of experiencing pain or fear.

It was a crappy consolation at best.

**XXXXXXXX**

They split up into pairs: Sam with Dean, Ellen with Bobby. They'd been searching for a day and a half and had gone through countless musty, cobweb-filled, empty buildings until Dean felt like he would get black lung from all the dust. And the clock was still ticking. Each hour that went by put Dean more on edge. Time was running out—not only for Heather and Jo but also for Sam to get back to Kentucky for his interview. Sam had blown it off when Dean mentioned it, saying Jo and Heather's lives were much more important, but Dean knew how much that interview meant to his little brother.

Dean was driving the Impala while Sam called TJ for the five-billionth time. He'd called her almost every hour, except during the night, reassuring himself everyone was safe. "Okay. Love you, too," Sam said, ending his call.

"TJ and everyone okay?"

"Yeah. They're getting cabin fever, but everyone's okay."

Dean nodded. He and Sam had spent the last thirty-one hours scouring the southern half of Nulty while Ellen and Bobby searched the north. It was like old times for Sam and Dean, when they'd practically lived in the Impala, but they'd pretty much said everything that needed to be said. Long silences had been the norm for most of the day today. They were both feeling the pressure, knowing things were getting down to the wire, and neither of them wanted to rest. They were both jacked up on caffeine. Dean knew it wasn't good for Sam to push himself like this, but Sam seemed to be all right.

Dean could no longer hold horrific thoughts of finding Heather dead at bay, and it felt like every muscle in his body was tense and knotted. He could barely breathe.

"We'll find her, Dean," Sam said astutely, as if he knew what Dean was thinking.

"Don't use your Vulcan mind-meld crap on me."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I didn't. You know it doesn't work that way. I just know what I'd be thinking if it were TJ. We'll find Heather. Don't do that to yourself, Dean."

Dean snorted. "Says you, who can't go more than sixty minutes without calling TJ."

Sam looked away, his mouth tightening. "Right." Another few minutes of silence went by, and then Sam said, "Turn left here."

Dean did, and they pulled up to the eleventh building they'd searched that day. Not only were they running out of time, they were running out of buildings and would have to start searching farther away from town, which would take more driving time they didn't have. This building was a commercial building that was wheelchair accessible, so it didn't take Sam and Dean long to search it. There was nothing there, and Dean was pissed off. He hadn't felt this frustrated, useless, or scared since right after Sam's spinal cord injury.

When they were on the road again, Sam was pensive. Dean knew that meant the gears in his little brother's gargantuan brain were turning. "What?" Dean barked.

"It's probably nothing."

"Tell me," Dean demanded.

"You'll think it's stupid."

Dean rolled his eyes. "My girlfriend's probably getting all the blood and life drained out of her while she's in la-la land having wet dreams of being the best woman hunter who ever lived. Meanwhile, I'm driving around with my thumb up my ass like a fucking moron. Tell me what you're thinking, Sam. I'm all ears."

"Right." Sam drew in a breath and exhaled. "Okay. We've searched every abandoned building in town and found nothing."

"And?" Dean said impatiently.

"Well, the djinn aren't stupid. They're humanlike creatures that can think and reason. It had to have figured out that Jo and Heather are hunters."

"So?"

"Well, either it risked moving its...food supply...to another town farther away, or maybe it's doing the unexpected—or at least what hunters wouldn't expect."

"Come on, Sam. Get to the point."

"What if it's not hiding in someplace abandoned? What if it's hiding in plain sight? They're like shapeshifters, right? They can disguise themselves and pass for humans."

Dean swallowed a surge of panic and fused it into anger. "Great. So now we have to search every damn place with four walls looking for someone that appears human. Piece of cake." He slammed the heels of his hands against the steering wheel. "Fuck! That's like looking for a single Storm Trooper in an army of a million Storm Troopers."

"Maybe not. In Arabic and Islamic lore, one way to appease the djinn is to offer them falafel. In fact, they can't resist it."

"What the hell is that?"

"It's a deep-fried ball or patty made from ground chickpeas, fava beans, or both. It's an Arabic food that's very popular in the Middle East. A lot of vegetarians use it in North America as a substitute for meat."

"Are you fuckin' kiddin' me? What are we supposed to do, find a falafel recipe and go all Martha Stewart on its ass?"

"No. But we find a grocery store or a restaurant that has falafel. This is a small town. Chances are, there won't be too many places that have it, if any." Sam was typing on his cell, long Sasquatch fingers surprisingly deft. "I just searched for it on my phone." He was staring at the glowing screen, and after a moment, he said, "Yahtzee. According to this, there's one restaurant in town that serves Middle-Eastern cuisine." He shrugged and looked at Dean.

Dean stared at him for a second, pissed off that this was the best lead they had. He debated whether they should pursue it—it was a long shot at best—or widen their search of abandoned buildings outside Nulty, which would take forever.

Sam cocked his head. "Got any better ideas?"

No. He didn't.

**XXXXXXXX**

Entering the Silence of the Lambs Grill a couple of minutes after Sam, Dean raised his brows at the name of the place. The restaurant was in the corner suite of a strip mall and had two entrances, one on the east side and one on the north. Sam was at the north door, keeping the waiter or owner or whatever he was busy. Sam was making a big deal about, first, the high step that led up to the door—making a production of getting over the step in his chair (although, normally, it wouldn't have fazed him)—and then struggling with the door itself, asking the waiter guy for help.

While all this was going on, Dean quietly slipped in through the east door. He quickly snuck behind the counter where the cash register was and headed toward the back rooms of the restaurant. Sam was still keeping the waiter-looking guy distracted. The big man had brown skin, a closely-clipped black beard, and a shiny bald head that reminded Dean of an Arab version of Mr. Clean. The man spoke with a slight accent and was the only employee in the restaurant Dean could see.

It was three in the afternoon, and the place was empty. Apparently, at that time of day, the good citizens of Nulty, Indiana had no need for falafel. Dean had to admit that the place smelled good. The scent of unfamiliar spices was enticing and made his stomach grumble with hunger. He forced himself not to look at the glass counter where the cash register was or the interesting and exotic pastries inside the case.

Mr. Clean acted like it was a major inconvenience to help Sam, and Dean wondered what kind of jerk wouldn't want to give a dude in a wheelchair help if he was asking for it. Dean was instantly suspicious, although he reminded himself some people were just dicks.

Dean could hear Sam apologizing for not being able to get to the counter because the tables were too close together and heard the scraping of chairs and the shuffle of tables being scooted—probably Mr. Clean making a path for Sam. Leave it to Sam to apologize for something like that to a douche bag who might be a friggin' blood-sucking monster.

Dean made his way into the back room of the restaurant, which was actually a large kitchen. Nothing looked out of the ordinary, just stacks of baking supplies, pots, pans, skillets, an industrial-sized freezer/refrigerator, gas stove, and a couple of giant ovens and sinks. It was all very neat and surprisingly clean, like no one had been cooking for a while—like it had been abandoned.

There were two doors he assumed led to storage rooms or maybe an office, and he tried the first one. Locked. He dug his lock-picking tools out of his back jeans pocket and had the door open within a minute. Sam was quicker at picking locks than Dean was by a second or two, but that was because Sam had a damned fine teacher: his big brother. Well, and their dad.

Dean carefully turned the steel doorknob and eased the door open. The light from the kitchen illuminated the dark room enough that he could see a large, burly body hanging from the ceiling by a rope tied around its hands. It was the same way Dean had been trussed up when he'd been taken by a djinn all those years ago. As he got closer to the hanging figure, his blood ran cold. Despite the dim lighting, he could tell the body was the waiter guy—the _real_ one. That meant Sam was alone and vulnerable out front with the djinn.

That was Dean's last rational thought. In the next instant, something attacked him, slamming into him hard and knocking the breath out of him—and it was something with way more arms and legs than any human or djinn had a right to have.

_**TBC**_


	33. Chapter 33

**_A/N: Sorry kids! I was running an hour late today, but better late than never, right?_  
**

**_Thank you to skzb, Catsluver, and Cartersdaughter. I will never be able to thank you enough.  
_**

**Chapter 33**

Dean was stunned for a second, doubled over and trying to catch his breath, but it was futile. First, whatever creature was attacking him had rammed into his gut, pushing all the air from his lungs, and now the creature had a viselike choke hold on him from behind. The thing was everywhere all at once, and Dean couldn't stay upright. He fell to the floor, feeling a sharp pain in his shoulder before coming to rest on his back.

His attacker was now pinned under him, one of its many arms trapped beneath his side. He tried to roll onto his stomach so he could lever himself up, but before he could, something sat on his ribs. In the dim light of the storeroom, he could see a figure on top of him. A knife blade glinted in a sliver of light, and very humanlike arms were raised high, as if ready to plunge the blade through his heart.

"Wait! It's not it!" yelled the thing underneath him. He realized in that moment that (A) the thing sounded like a human girl, and (B) there were actually two girls, if the wild tangle of shadowy, long hair belonging to the assailant on top of him was any indication. They could still be djinn that had shapeshifted into human female forms, but why would the one under him tell the other one to hold off on killing him? Unless they wanted his blood warm and flowing for an afternoon cocktail.

The shadowy figure on top of Dean swooped her blade down in an agile move, and the sharp edge of the blade suddenly felt cold and deadly against his throat. "This is a silver knife dipped in lamb's blood," said a hard-edged, slightly breathless woman's voice.

While Dean had never heard her use that lethal tone before, he'd know that voice anywhere. Heather. He closed his eyes, relief and love flooding through him. She certainly didn't seem any worse for wear, since she was a hairsbreadth away from slitting his throat.

"Human or djinn—either way—you move, and you're dead," she warned harshly.

"I know I screwed up, baby, but can't we at least talk about it?" Dean quipped, as if they were having a simple lovers' spat.

There was a beat of silence and then an incredulous, "Dean?"

"Hi," he said in his best sexy-porn-star voice.

"Oh, my God. I mean, thank God. I mean, holy cow!" Her words came out in a rush, but then a note of doubt took over. "But what if it's not really you? I mean, what if the djinn got to you and you're it?"

"Cut me," Dean instructed in a matter-of-fact tone.

"What?"

He held up his arm that was now free. "Cut my arm."

She stared at it warily, not moving.

"Oh, please!" groaned the girl beneath him, sounding annoyed. "Give it to me, then."

Dean knew now the disgruntled voice belonged to Jo. "Hey, Jo," said Dean. "It's good to sort of see you again."

She snorted and tried to wiggle under him. "You've put on weight. You're about to collapse my lung. Let him up before he suffocates me," she complained to Heather.

Heather hoisted her leg off Dean and sat next to his side, knife still at the ready should he try anything. She hadn't let her guard down, and Dean was impressed. Apparently, Jo and Ellen had trained her well.

Dean rolled off of Jo, sat up, and rubbed his shoulder. It would be bruised, but it wasn't dislocated. Jo sat up and dug out a knife similar to Heather's from the inside of her jacket. "Heather's a natural with knives," Jo explained. "We decided I would do whatever it took to distract the djinn while she sank the knife in its gut."

Dean shot a surprised look at Heather. A hidden talent for knives? _Just when you think you know someone..._

Jo grabbed Dean's wrist and held up her knife. "Sorry," she said, even as she was already slicing into his skin.

He hissed a breath through his teeth. "Little deep, Jo," he groused pointedly.

"Don't be a baby." She pressed his shirttail to the now-bleeding wound and looked at Heather. "He's Dean. You can kiss him without getting cooties. Well," she corrected, "at least djinn cooties."

Dean gave her a saccharine smile. "Ah, Jo, always a pleasure."

Jo snickered and got up to flip a switch on the wall, illuminating everyone with bright, fluorescent yellow light. Heather and Jo both looked disheveled and dirty, but Dean couldn't see anything seriously wrong with them. Jo hadn't changed much in the last four years, except she looked a bit more mature. The features of her face were a little more defined, less adolescent. She was a pretty, spunky blond, but Dean's heart flipped when he got a good look at Heather.

She looked hot, even with her coppery hair sticking up in every direction and a big smudge of what he hoped was dirt next to her eye. The way she'd expertly handled the knife and almost killed him when she thought he was the djinn was a major turn-on, and her sky-blue eyes made him get that emo feeling he would never admit to, not even under the worst torture possible.

She launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. It jarred his sore shoulder, but it was a small price to pay for having her in his arms. It sure as hell beat finding her hanging from the ceiling drained of blood.

"I'm so glad you're okay," she said into the hollow where his neck met his shoulder.

"You're glad _I'm_ okay?" he questioned incredulously. "You're the one that's been missing for two days."

She drew back and gazed at him, giving him the crooked, enigmatic smile he loved. "We would have gotten away sooner," she explained, "but that dirtbag djinn can really tie a knot."

"Dirtbag?" Dean echoed, amused. Heather never swore unless she was extremely pissed off. Apparently, being kidnapped by a monster didn't warrant bad language.

"How about 'scary, nasty-assed motherfucker'?" Jo supplied.

"Has a nice ring to it," said Dean.

Heather smiled, but then her expression morphed into a frown. "Dean, did you come alone?"

Every muscle in Dean's body immediately tensed. "Son of a bitch. Sam!"

**XXXXXXXX**

Sam pretended to be indecisive as he perused the contents of the pastry counter where the cash register was. "How's the baklava?" he asked, watching for any weird reaction from the dark, burly, cue-ball-headed owner of the store.

"Good," Cue Ball answered tersely. He was clearly annoyed at Sam's disruption of his quiet afternoon and Sam's waffling, and he kept checking his watch.

Sam was convinced there was something weird about the man, although Cue Ball had done nothing out of the ordinary except be rude. Sam's hunting instincts were on red alert, and he wondered if Dean had found anything in the back of the place because he was running out of ways to keep the man behind the counter distracted.

"Sir, could you please make your selection?" Cue Ball prodded in his faint accent. "It's closing time, and I have somewhere I need to be."

Sam frowned. "Your sign says you don't close until nine in the evening."

The man looked back at Sam with dark, dead eyes. "I close early today."

"Oh. Uh, sorry. The baklava is for my wife," Sam explained. "She's kind of picky."

The man rolled his eyes. "You could always come back tomorrow."

Sam nodded, surreptitiously scanning the area behind the counter, hoping to see some sign of Dean. "Right." He stuck his hand in his jacket pocket, feeling for the silver knife dipped in lamb's blood he'd hidden and wanting to reassure himself that the knife was still there. He and Dean had both made sure they were armed with the proper djinn-killing weapons before entering the restaurant.

The knife wasn't there. Sam's heart sank to his gut, and a cold fear wove through his body.

Cue Ball's eyes suddenly flared and changed to a weird, glowing, electric blue—a telltale sign he was a djinn. "Looking for this?" the creature asked with a leer, holding Sam's knife up for him to see.

Huh. Apparently, not only did djinn have superhuman strength and speed, but they were also awesome pickpockets. The djinn must have snaked the knife when it had gotten close to Sam to help him in the door. The bastard had known Sam was a hunter all along.

Before Sam could react, the djinn grabbed him by the throat with one hand and easily lifted Sam's six-four body up out of his chair, holding him over the counter like a rag doll.

Sam tried to pry the djinn's strangling grip from his neck with both hands, but his effort was futile. No air could get past Sam's throat, and he was beginning to see dark spots before his eyes.

"I have to say," the djinn said conversationally, "you're the first gimp that's ever come after me."

Sam would have said _"Fuck you"_ if his vocal cords weren't currently being crushed.

The djinn's mocking chuckle was interrupted by a tap on its shoulder, and it turned to see what was behind it.

"No one calls my brother a gimp except me," barked Dean, his brows winged with fury.

The djinn unceremoniously dropped Sam, as if Sam were no threat whatsoever, and focused its attention on Dean.

Sam heaved in the gulps of air his body had been desperate for and coughed, even as he crashed down onto the glass counter, his hip and side taking the brunt of the impact. He could hear the thick glass of the counter cracking like ice on a frozen pond and felt a pain in his upper ribs that throbbed in time with his hammering heart.

The djinn held up the knife it'd stolen from Sam and made a swipe at Dean. Dean made an impressive, lighting-quick move to evade the deadly jab and threw a couple of punches at the djinn, which hardly affected it but made Dean grunt with pain on each impact of his fist to the djinn's jaw. As if Dean were just an annoying little gnat, the djinn suddenly grabbed the front of Dean's jacket and flung him bodily across the room, causing him to fly through a plate glass window advertising the best shawarma in town. Probably true, since it was also the only shawarma in town.

Sam winced in sympathy as his brother landed, stunned, on the sidewalk outside the restaurant, along with a shower of glass. When Sam turned back to the djinn, he was surprised to see Heather and Jo both holding knives at the ready and closing in on the monster. The girls seemed to have come out of nowhere.

The creature gave them the same evil leer it'd given Sam, and Sam realized the djinn was toying with them all. With the djinn's supernatural speed and strength, the bastard could neutralize each one of them in a matter of seconds. All it would have to do was zap them with its poison, and they'd all live happily ever after, their every wish fulfilled in dreamland until the monster sucked them dry of blood.

Jo and Heather took a step closer to the djinn, who now had its back to Sam. "Ladies," it taunted, "you know you are no match for me. We've been through this. You're like pathetic little butterflies."

Heather suddenly landed a roundhouse kick worthy of Jackie Chan against the djinn's chest. Unfortunately, in a move so fast Sam didn't even see its hands move, the djinn grabbed Heather by her leg and threw her into some shelves, causing an artful arrangement of colorful ceramic tea cups to clatter to the floor, along with a dazed Heather.

The djinn grabbed Jo next, squeezing her neck with one hand and strangling her the same way it had done to Sam. Dean, who'd managed to get upright again, threw his knife through the opening in the broken window in a maneuver worthy of a knife-thrower in a carnival. It would have been a perfect strike to the djinn's neck, but the djinn turned at the last second to face Dean, still holding Jo by the throat in one hand and Sam's knife in its other.

Dean's knife hit the djinn's beefy shoulder and bounced off, falling to the counter where Sam lay. Sam didn't hesitate. He grabbed the knife in one hand, held onto the edge of the counter for leverage with his other, and plunged the knife into the djinn's stomach—glad that he had long arms and a long reach. The knife sank into the vulnerable belly of the djinn, and Sam pushed the knife downward, ripping the djinn's gut open like he was filleting a fish.

The djinn looked down at the bloody entrails escaping its body and then at Sam, its features frozen in stunned disbelief. It had made the deadly mistake of letting its guard down where Sam was concerned and was now paying a high price for that mistake. The creature dropped Jo. She landed on the floor in a heap, rubbing her throat and coughing in gulps of air. Electric blue light that matched the djinn's eyes flashed out of every orifice in its body as it made its last death throes.

Almost as surprised as the djinn, it took Sam a second to comprehend what he'd done. He was starting to feel kind of badass until the djinn suddenly dropped to the floor with a huge thud. Sam's hand still held the hilt of the knife that was buried in the djinn. He let go when the djinn started to fall, but it was too late. Sam lost his balance and flipped off the counter in a very un-badass way, landing on his back on top of the djinn and feeling the disgusting squish of steamy djinn intestines mingling with his hair.

He lay there a second, despite the stench and heat from the djinn entrails, and tried to catch his breath, ignoring the ache in his ribs. He could hear Dean talking to Heather, checking her out and asking her questions. She was answering him, which was a good sign.

Suddenly, Jo's face was looming over Sam. "Hey there."

"Hi, Jo."

"You killed the fucker. Nice reach."

"Thanks."

"Would you like a hand?" she asked with a smirk. "Or is djinn smegma some kind of new shampoo for that girlie long hair of yours that I haven't heard about?" Sam's hair had been shorter the last time she'd seen him.

He grimaced with disgust. "A hand would be good."

She pressed her lips together, her eyes twinkling, and held out her hand. He grabbed it and let her pull him into a sitting position. She glanced furtively at his loose jeans and thin legs and then quickly back to his face, obviously trying to hide her curiosity.

"Thanks," he said.

"Sure." She was staring at him intently.

"So, you and Heather seem in pretty good shape," Sam remarked, "considering you've had djinn poison running through your veins for two days."

Jo shook her head. "Didn't work on us. Heather read in the lore somewhere that a Tawiz pouch would make us immune to the poison." Jo pulled out a small black pouch hanging on a thin black cord around her neck. It had been hidden under her shirt. "The pouch has small papers with Islamic protection prayers written on them. Mom and I were skeptical, but it turns out Heather was right." Jo gave a _who-__knew?_ shrug and said seriously, "Praise Allah."

"So what happened?" Sam prompted.

"The Tawiz protected us from going to la-la land, but it did nothing to help us fight the djinn's strength or speed. The fucker snatched us from the warehouse quicker than we knew what was happening and tied us up just like it did the owner of the restaurant, then took on his form." She rolled her neck on her shoulders and winced. "My arms and shoulders are killing me. The djinn hooked up an IV port in our necks, too. We pretended to be in a coma when it was in the room, and when it wasn't, we worked to try to get ourselves untied."

She showed Sam her wrists, and he winced. Her skin was bruised, rope-burned, and bloody in some places.

Jo's jaw hardened with hatred. "The djinn took a few sips of our blood—and it was pretty damn hard to fake being comatose during that—but the thing was more interested in draining poor Omar first. It finished the poor dude off this morning, and I'm sure either Heather or I would have been the djinn's main course tonight.

"Anyway, it had a fetish for falafel—go figure—and the restaurant was the perfect cover for it. It's not the usual lair for a djinn, but it knew hunters would look for us in abandoned buildings." She tilted her head. "How did you two find us?"

"Like you said, djinn have a thing for falafel. I read it in the lore. This is the only place in town that sells it."

Jo's eyes widened and she smirked. "How many abandoned buildings did you search first?"

"Every one in the city. We were running out of places to look."

"So, this was grasping at straws?" she queried with an arched brow.

"Pretty much," he answered.

She let out a little breath and shook her head slightly. "Well, I'm really damn glad you thought of it."

"Me, too," Sam said with a smile. "We should call Bobby and Ellen and let them know we found you."

Jo nodded. "I'll call my mom in a sec." She paused, looking him in the eye. "It's good to see you, Sam."

"It's good to see you, too, Jo."

"You know, it hurt when you shut us out," she said bluntly. "We would have been there for you. You know my mom kind of thinks of you and Dean as sons."

"I know," Sam said quietly. Ghost pangs of the anger and fear of that first year after his injury made his chest tighten. "It wasn't you. I was in a bad place in many ways, and I didn't want to see anybody, not even Bobby. I didn't want anyone's pity."

She nodded solemnly with understanding and then, after a beat, smiled, reminding him of the saucy, cocky girl she'd been the first time he and Dean met her four years ago. "I heard you've been busy," she said. "Wife, college, and twins, huh?"

"Yeah. And a few other catastrophes in between."

She laughed softly. "I wouldn't expect anything less from a Winchester," she teased. Looking pointedly at the dead djinn, she said, "Just so you know, I don't pity you. That was a pretty impressive kill. We would have all been toast. No wonder those fuckers live so long. They're really friggin' hard to get rid of."

"Yeah," Sam agreed. They were silent for another moment, taking each other in. Finally, Sam said, "Would you, uh, grab my chair for me?"

Her eyes scanned the area around them. "Sure. Where is it?"

"On the other side of the counter."

Jo unfolded herself off the floor and was back with Sam's chair in two seconds. She watched as he gripped hold of the frame of it with one hand and pressed a fist into the smooth, tiled floor of the restaurant with his other, then dipped his head and lifted his butt in the air, swinging it over to the seat. He was back in his chair in the blink of an eye. Okay. Maybe a little longer than that, but not much. He lifted his legs with his hands at the knees to position his feet on the footplate. His ribs ached from all the movement of getting into his chair, and he tried not to wince under Jo's scrutiny. After all, he had an image as a badass to uphold.

"Wow," she said, clearly impressed. She bent down suddenly and hugged him, startling him a bit. He raised his arms, hugging her back. It made his ribs hurt again, but he didn't think they were cracked, just bruised. He'd have to remember to check out his hip later when he had a chance to inspect the damage to it.

Still hugging him, Jo warned in his ear, "If you blow us off for another four years, we'll hunt you down."

"Right."

Sam felt a sense of satisfaction and closure. He'd gotten through the awkward reunion with both Jo and Ellen, something he'd dreaded and put off ever since his injury. He hadn't wanted to see pity in their eyes, but his paralysis turned out to be no big deal to either of them. Not only that, but he'd actually been a help instead of a hindrance on the hunt. He'd proven something, not only to Dean and everyone else, but to himself, too.

Now, he was ready to get the hell out of Dodge. He had a family to get home to.

**XXXXXXXX**

"Here," said Heather, shoving a bottle of 190-proof Everclear at Dean. Her long coppery hair was mussed and dirty, but she was still beautiful.

They were alone in the girls' motel room. Sam was showering in his and Dean's room, and Bobby, Ellen, and Jo were having a celebratory drink in Bobby's.

"Jesus Christ, Heather," said Dean, arching a brow at the potent bottle of alcohol. "You tryin' to blind me?"

She shrugged. "It dulls the pain quickly, it's cheap, and it also makes a great antiseptic."

Dean snorted. "Yeah. It's also illegal in at least thirteen states."

Her light-blue eyes filled with sympathy. "These stitches are really going to hurt, Dean."

"It's nothing I haven't felt before."

She let out a sigh, the look on her face saying she thought he was stubborn but knew it was futile to argue. "Suit yourself," was all she said before grabbing the Everclear from him and dousing the cut on the back of his bare shoulder with liquid fire.

He couldn't help the grunt of pain that escaped him. "Fuck!" His nostrils flared as he tried to breathe through the torment.

"You good?"

"Peachy," he said through clenched teeth.

"I'm starting the sutures now," she warned.

"Do it."

"Sure you don't want some hunter's helper?"

Dean eyed dubiously the Everclear bottle she'd set down on the small table in the motel room. "That's not hunter's helper. That's turpentine."

With another sigh, she stuck the suturing needle into his skin for the first stitch. Sharp pain shot through his shoulder and made him feel shaky and queasy. This wound was deeper than the other cuts he'd gotten, which were mostly superficial—all nice souvenirs from being thrown through a plate glass window—along with the slice on his arm from where Jo had tested to make sure he wasn't a djinn.

"At least ten more stitches to go," Heather informed him, a sure-you-don't-want-to-drink-the-lighter-fluid question in her voice.

Dean took in a deep breath, tilted his head back, and closed his eyes, telling himself to suck it up. He could feel Heather patting the cut with gauze, trying to staunch seeping blood. "Whatever happened to good old Jack and Jim?" he asked. The reply he got was her mouth on his, kissing him chastely, and he opened his eyes.

She was behind him, leaning over him, and it gave the illusion that she was upside down. She pulled away enough to look at him and gifted him with her crooked smile. "Jack and Jim are for babies. Big girls drink Everclear."

Dean shook his head like she was nuts but grabbed the rotgut off the table and took a drink, coughing as the grain alcohol seared his throat. "Damn," he growled, still coughing.

"Ready for me to finish?" Heather asked softy.

He took another swig, coughed, and gave a quick nod, letting her know he was ready to be tortured again. And she'd been right. The Everclear worked quickly. He was already starting to feel a buzz.

Her paramedic skills were evident—or else the Everclear was fully kicking in—because the pain of the last ten or eleven stitches was bearable. It helped that Heather was deft, swift, and good at her job.

When she was done, she set the suturing supplies on the table along with the bloody gauze, stuck a clean bandage on the cut, and then knelt in front of him. "I'm sorry I hurt you," she said, gazing directly into his eyes.

He got a knot in his gut—anger mixed with hurt feelings. "Are you talking about the stitches or the fact that you blew me off for Christmas to go hunt a fucking djinn and almost got yourself killed?"

"I'm sorry I almost got you and Sam killed, but I'm not sorry I went on the hunt," she said with unwavering calm. "That horrible..." her eyes shifted as she looked for the right word, "...creep really needed to go down."

Dean rolled his eyes and smirked good-naturedly. "Yeah. That baddie was definitely a no-good scalawag."

Heather smiled. "I need to learn to swear better if I'm gonna be a hunter, huh?"

Dean grew serious and gently held her wrists, looking them over. They were in bad shape after two days of hanging from a ceiling by a rope—chafed, bloody, and bruised. "Your arms and shoulders sore?" he asked quietly.

She nodded, staring down at her wrists ruefully.

He lifted them up and made a production of showing them to her, then stared at her hard. "This really the life you want?"

In typical Heather fashion, she met his stare head-on, her pale eyes penetrating. "Yes. It's in my blood." Dean rolled his eyes again, but she ignored his response, still staring at him intently. "Just like it's in yours."

He let that soak in a moment, not wanting to admit it but knowing deep down she was right. He was a hunter and always would be. He framed her pretty face with his hands and spoke with heavy emotion, his throat feeling thick. "I thought I was gonna find you dead."

She searched his features, remorse flooding her eyes. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to worry you."

He exhaled a harsh breath through his nose. "Dammit, Heather. 'Worry' isn't the word for what I felt. Try 'terrified.' If you're gonna get your ass killed," he said fiercely, "then from now on, I'll be right there with you. You're not gettin' ganked without me. You wanna hunt, you're doing it with me."

Again, the crooked smile. "That's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me, Dean. I don't want to live without you, either," she translated.

He kissed her hard on the lips. She quickly opened up to him, inviting him in with her tongue. His blood pressure surged and he staked his claim. She was his love and his life.

And, now, she was his partner.

**XXXXXXXX**

"Still no answer?" queried Dean, glancing at Sam.

Sam felt a tangle of dread making his chest feel tight. They were thirty minutes away from Moss Fork and the farm—Sam in the passenger seat of the Impala and Dean driving. Sam shook his head in answer to Dean's question and pushed the end button on his phone. It was the third time he'd tried to call the farmhouse in the last twenty minutes. He'd been trying the cell phones of TJ and her parents, cursing the fact that Vern recently got rid of the land line because no one ever used it. All three cells went straight to voice mail.

Since the bout with the djinn earlier in the day, Sam's leg had been jiggling and spasming off and on because of his injured hip. Both legs were hurting with the icy-hot phantom pain that, surprisingly, hadn't plagued him for a while; but tonight, the pain was back with a vengeance. The spasticity and pain were sometimes his body's way of letting him know he was pushing himself too hard or that something was wrong. Sam wished his body would shut up. He knew something was wrong.

He'd taken a shower at the motel before they'd gotten on the road in order to get the djinn guts out of his hair and found what was shaping up to be a giant, ugly bruise on his hip—along with several smaller bruises up and down his ribs. His ribs were sore but nothing serious. He'd had much worse in that department.

His hip, however, had looked bad, and Sam was kind of glad he couldn't feel it. He'd been icing it intermittently while they drove, careful not to leave the icepack on his skin too long.

Dean shot another worried scowl his way, which Sam ignored.

Sam knew a bruise this bad could be dangerous. His skin healed slower on the lower half of his body because of poorer circulation, and a bruise could cause a pressure sore if he wasn't careful. Basically, it was a wait-and-see game. There was really nothing he could do but ice it, keep pressure off of it, and hope for the best.

Dean wanted Sam to see a doctor, just to make sure he hadn't cracked a hip bone or something, but the area wasn't swollen like it would be with a fracture. Still, Sam wasn't an idiot. If he thought the bruise wasn't healing or it started getting worse, he would see a doctor. Right now, however, all he cared about was getting back home to his family.

It was late Tuesday night. Heather, who'd been exhausted and sore after her ordeal with the djinn, hadn't wanted to spend five hours in a car, so she'd stayed at the motel with Bobby, Ellen, and Jo. Dean and Sam were now on the final stretch of the trip back to Moss Fork and had been in the car for the last three hours without a break.

Dean kept casting furtive looks at Sam's jiggling leg and making subtle suggestions that they should stop, just for a few minutes. Sam had refused. All he wanted was to get to TJ and the twins. He still had a little time to go before he had to worry about his "schedule." He'd deal with that stuff and ice his hip again after he saw his family was safe. Right now, his SCI issues were the least of his concerns.

The closer they got to the farm, the more uptight Sam got. Every time he'd called over the past two days and heard TJ's voice, he'd been relieved that everything was okay, at least for the few minutes after he spoke with her. But now she wasn't answering, and neither were her parents.

Why wasn't anyone answering? He could maybe see not getting an answer once, but after the third time? And why were all three phones out of commission? Why the silence now, when he was almost home?

Another glance from Dean. "You tried Fern and Vern's phones, too?"

Sam nodded tersely.

"They all have the same cellular carrier, right? It's probably something simple, like the network is down or something," Dean speculated.

"It was working fine when I talked to her an hour ago."

Dean gave a slight shake of his head. "There's gotta be an easy explanation. Maybe the satellite is fucked up or something."

"Since when is anything in our lives ever an easy explanation, Dean?" The more his brother kept trying to come up with a logical solution, the more Sam's nerves were on edge.

They drove in silence for a few more miles when Dean cleared his throat, tossing a surreptitious glance at Sam's spasming leg. "Sam—"

"We're not stopping, Dean!" Sam snapped. How many times did he have to say it? "We're only thirty minutes from the farm, for fuck's sake!"

Dean's jaw hardened as if he wanted to argue, but he refocused on the road without saying anything. Another fifteen minutes passed with Sam trying to call the farm four more times, but he got nothing.

Memories of the night Jessica was killed invaded his brain.

He'd said goodbye to Dean. They hadn't found their father, but they'd had a successful hunt. Sam was feeling good about the fact that they'd helped someone, and it had been good to be with his brother again after two years. He was sorry to see Dean go.

Still, when Sam walked into the door of the apartment he shared with Jessica, the smell of fresh-baked cookies reminded him he had normal now. His life was on track. He had everything he wanted and then some. He had a future. He was in love.

He ate a cookie from the plate Jessica had left out for him and then lay down on the bed. He could hear her in the shower, and thoughts of her put a smile on his face as he drifted off to sleep. He was exhausted.

He woke up to absolute, unadulterated hell.

Jessica—the beautiful, smart, funny, compassionate, sexy girl he was planning to propose to—had been stabbed through her stomach and pinned to the ceiling, her blood dripping onto Sam's forehead. Her lifeless eyes bored into him with shock and horror. Then, with a sudden whoosh, her body ignited and was engulfed in flames.

The memory of that night caused a sickening tightness in Sam's gut that stole his breath. His shoulders and neck muscles corded painfully. Jessica's face kept morphing into TJ's. No matter how much he tried to fight the image, it was so vivid and so real in his mind it was almost like he was having a vision, only there was no head-splitting migraine or nosebleed. Just a foreboding that he was going to lose his wife. It would be typical of his fucked-up, nightmarish life: to lose TJ right after he'd gotten her back.

And what about the twins? Maybe they hadn't inherited Sam's demon blood. Maybe a demon was there now, hovering over their cribs and dripping blood into their mouths, tainting their lives forever.

What about Fern and Vern? Sam didn't want to think about what a demon would do to them. They would be like TJ, a hindrance. Their lives would have no value at all. Sam would lose yet another set of parents.

He was sweating, his breathing rapid, his heart racing.

"Sammy—"

"Drive faster, Dean." Sam's voice was urgent and grim, reflecting the anguish and fear he felt.

The Impala's engine roared as Dean put the gas pedal to the floor.

When they pulled up to the farmhouse, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Everyone's cars were in the driveway, and Vern's winter wonderland of lights was cheerfully and blindingly bright. Aside from that, all was eerily calm. It was just like the night Sam had come home to Jessica, when he'd had no inkling his life was about to be shattered.

His hands shook as he hastily put his chair together and transferred from the car. He didn't bother putting on his jacket. When he and Dean entered the kitchen through the backdoor of the farmhouse, Sam almost threw up. The warm aroma of two pristine cherry pies sitting in welcome on the breakfast counter hit him in the face, and his heart hammered with stark, uncontrollable terror, his blood rushing in his ears.

He shut his eyes tightly, unable to move any part of his body. He couldn't face it. He couldn't make himself search the house. He'd rather die now than find them all dead or discover that something vile and evil had been done to the twins. It was too much. He couldn't take any more. He...

"Sam?"

He swallowed hard, wondering if he was hearing things. He was so sure he was about to enter his worst nightmare.

"Oh, my Lord. You're shaking. Your leg..."

He could hear other voices coming from the living room—Dean talking to Fern and Vern; jokes about being stuck in the house all weekend; Dean being teased that Fern only made two pies, which meant Dean would have to save some for everyone else; chuckles from Dean.

Sam felt lips brushing over his mouth, then his eyelids. He could smell the sweet scent of flowers and mint. "TJ?" he breathed raggedly.

Another kiss was his answer, and he opened his eyes. TJ's familiar, beautiful face—so full of life and love—hovered near his for a second until she pulled out a chair from the kitchen table and sat as close to him as she could. Then she leaned toward him and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Are you cold?" she asked, brows knitted together in concern.

He shook his head. "Are—are the twins okay?"

"Asleep," she answered. "Rocket's watching over them, as usual."

Sam looked down and clenched his jaw against a tide of emotion, consumed by love and the purest relief he'd ever known. His throat constricted and his eyes burned with embarrassing moisture.

She framed his face with her hands, ducking her head a little to see him better. "Tell me what's wrong." Her gaze swept downward to his neck, and her eyes widened with shock and worry. "Your throat. Oh, my God, Sam! You're hurt." She traced the bruises on his neck where the djinn had tried to strangle him.

More concerned about his hip injury, Sam had hardly given the bruises on his neck a second thought. He grasped her hand, stopping her troubled perusal of his throat, and kissed her palm. Then he placed her palm on his cheek and leaned into it. He closed his eyes, happily losing himself in the sensation of her soft skin against his face. "I'm okay," he said huskily.

"What happened? Was it...bad?"

He swallowed hard, hoping he wasn't dreaming, hoping TJ was really there with him, hoping the djinn hadn't somehow survived and sent him into a coma, hoping he wasn't seeing only what he wanted to see. It was too good to be true, wasn't it? That TJ, the twins, and her parents were all safe and sound? That he hadn't walked into a massacre or that the farmhouse—the home he'd grown to love as if he'd been born there—was still standing? That it hadn't been reduced to a pile of ashes?

TJ was close to him in her kitchen chair, but Sam wanted her closer. Unfortunately, his leg was still spasming, so she couldn't sit on his lap. She seemed to intuit his need and leaned into him, pulling him close to her. He leaned into her, embracing her with all his strength, afraid to let her go. The weight and heat of her body against his was heaven.

They stayed that way for a long minute, Sam trying unsuccessfully to get his heartbeat to slow down while she offered him sweet, silent solace that further threatened to undo him. What was wrong with him? Now that he knew everyone was safe, he was dangerously close to falling apart.

TJ's parents and Dean remained in the living room, probably to give TJ and Sam a few moments of privacy. Dean knew what had been going through Sam's head, and he was allowing Sam a chance to recover.

Sam realized he was probably squeezing TJ too hard and let up. She drew back a little so she could speak, resting her hands on his shoulders. "You're still shaking, and it's not because you're cold." Her brow furrowed, and her gorgeous brown eyes were liquid with compassion. "Why, Sam? Tell me what's wrong."

He tried again to get control of himself, drawing in a breath through his nose and glancing away for a second before refocusing on her. "Why didn't you answer your phone, TJ?"

She stared at him, looking slightly bemused.

"I couldn't get you or either of your parents. I've been trying nonstop."

"I..." She tilted her head, brow still creased, like she was trying to understand. "There was a glitch or something in the cellular service. None of us have had any bars for almost an hour now. It happens sometimes. I think it's because we're so rural, or maybe the mountains sometimes get in the way."

Sam slowly closed his eyes and arched his head back slightly, feeling like an idiot for freaking out but, at the same time, angry the fates were having another laugh at his expense. It must be Scare-the-Shit-Out-of-Sam-for-No-Apparent-Reason Day.

"I talked to you not too long ago," said TJ, "and I knew you'd be home soon." Her expression became apologetic. "Were you afraid because we didn't answer? You thought..." She trailed off, and he saw it on her face when she understood. "All your instructions before you left, the salt lines, the fact that you didn't want us to leave the house or answer the door—this is about what happened to Jessica, isn't it?"

Sam nodded, reluctant to admit it.

TJ framed his face again with her hands. "Oh, Sam. I'm so sorry. I didn't realize—if I'd known what you'd be thinking, I would have gone somewhere to call you and let you know we were okay."

"You weren't supposed to leave the house," he reminded her.

"Oh. Right."

"TJ, I..." He was suddenly overcome with emotion again and couldn't speak.

She caressed his cheekbone with her thumb. "It's okay. Everyone's okay."

"If something happened to you, the twins, Fern and Vern, I..." Sam looked fiercely into her eyes. "I want you and your parents—all of us—to have different cellular carriers from now on," he demanded. "No more friends and family discounts." He felt stupid for saying it, but he was serious.

"Okay."

"And I want the land line back."

She nodded. "Okay."

"And—and Skype."

"Okay."

"And—"

"—a very long string with tin cans tied at the ends?" she finished teasingly.

His mouth twitched with a smile, and he answered emphatically, "Yes."

"Morse code?" she quipped.

"Yes."

"A lighthouse in the backyard?"

"With a beacon that can be seen from Canada," he added adamantly.

"Carrier pigeons?" she suggested. "Oh, wait. They're extinct."

"Actually, they're not," he corrected. "It's the passenger pigeon that's extinct." He leaned forward a bit and kissed her earlobe. "Don't feel bad," he muttered into the curve of her jaw where it met her neck. "A lot of people get them confused."

Her breath hitched with pleasure. "You're so full of useless facts." She arched her throat to give him better access. "It's really sexy."

"Mmm," he said, coming up for air and looking at her with a mixture of amusement and desire. "You think the strangest things are sexy."

She kissed him once, then twice on the lips. "Only the things remotely related to you."

"I love you, TJ."

Her eyes were filled with warmth and a spark that promised something far more intimate later on. "I love you, Sam," she drawled softly. "Welcome home."

**XXXXXXXX**

"Sweatpants and a long-sleeved T-shirt?" asked TJ, arching a brow inquisitively. "You're Mr. Modesty tonight."

Sam shrugged. "Just cold." He usually slept only in boxers unless it was extremely cold outside.

"I'll keep you warm," she offered coyly. She'd just changed into an old set of silky blue pajamas her mom had gotten her.

The corners of his mouth curved upward in a small smile, but he felt uneasy. He knew what TJ wanted, and God knew Sam wanted it too, but he was afraid she would get upset and overreact if she saw the bruises on his side—especially his hip.

He rolled himself over onto his stomach, and she helped him get his legs straightened out properly. His sweatpants were new gray ones she'd gotten him because his old ones had seen better days.

"Your leg is spasming again," she remarked as she pulled up the covers and lay down facing him.

He sighed. "Yeah."

"Are you sure you're not hurt somewhere? You checked yourself thoroughly, right?" she said in her soft drawl.

He closed his eyes and nodded into his pillow. "Just a few bruises."

TJ was quiet for so long that he cocked one eye open to look at her. Her face was unreadable, but he got the vibe she wasn't buying what he was selling. She moved closer to him, dark eyes trained on him. She was lying on her side, one arm bent and her hand resting palm upward between them. He slid his hand out from under his pillow and interlaced his fingers with hers, resting his arm on top of hers. It was like a loose arm-wrestling hold. The warmth of her seeped into him.

"I'm glad you don't do this on a regular basis," she said.

"What? The hunting?"

"Yes."

He huffed. "Yeah. Me, too."

She frowned slightly. "You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah. Just tired. I haven't slept in about thirty-nine hours."

She squeezed his hand and lifted it to her lips, kissing the back of it. "So, did Dean say he was leaving tomorrow?"

Sam nodded. "I think he's anxious to get back to Heather, now that they've made up."

"So, what happened with them? I guess they got things resolved?"

"I think so. She's quitting her job. She wants to hunt full time."

TJ's eyes widened. "Wow. Is Dean freaked?"

Sam exhaled a long breath, thinking about it. "I don't think he's as freaked as he was. He was scared shitless he would find her dead, but instead, he found a competent hunter who could take care of herself. He's going back into hunting so he can be with her."

"Well, I guess that makes sense," said TJ. "He loves her. Besides, he doesn't seem like the type of guy that would be happy at a place like Firestone forever."

"He's not. I think he's always worked there because of me, to help with the medical expenses after my injury, but I don't need that anymore."

"Right. We have our own crappy insurance," TJ said wryly.

"Right," Sam agreed. "Dean's tossed around the idea of someday opening his own garage, but, to tell you the truth, I don't think that would make him happy. He was raised to be a nomad and a hunter."

"So were you," TJ said with a sympathetic smile.

"Yeah. But it's never been in my blood like it has his. Dean may say he wants normal, but I think deep down he'll always love the thrill he gets from hunting."

"Maybe with Heather, he can have his cake and eat it, too," TJ mused.

"Yeah. And he'll have someone else to boss around besides me."

TJ's tone was skeptical. "Hmm. I think Heather has a mind of her own—and she's smart. She'll probably go along with what Dean says and then, in the end, do whatever she wants."

Sam smiled. "Yeah. It'll drive him crazy. She's perfect for him." There was a beat of silence, and then he switched gears. "We'll probably see them a lot more often. I hope that's okay. They'll probably use here and Bobby's place in South Dakota as home bases in between jobs."

"Of course it's okay. I'm glad you'll get to see Dean more, and I really like Heather. It'll be good for the twins to have your brother around. He's really good with them."

"Yeah, he is." Sam got a warm, peaceful, sort of nostalgic feeling when he thought of how Dean loved Robby and Sami Joy and how they responded to him. Sam was glad his big brother would be around more, too.

TJ snuggled in closer. As she did so, her knee inadvertently bumped Sam's sore ribs, and he grunted at the sharp pain.

Her brows came together. "I'm sorry. Is...is your side hurt?"

"Yeah," he said casually. "Just bruised a little on my ribs and hip from when the djinn dropped me on the counter."

"Oh, my Lord. Funny how you left that part out when you and Dean told us what happened." She sat up, causing the covers to slide down and letting chilly air into the little pod they'd created. "Let me see."

"It's not a big deal, Teej. Nothing to worry about."

She gave him a hard, admonishing stare, which was undermined by the dusting of playful freckles across her nose and cheekbones. When she spoke, her accent was thick. "Sam Winchester, I might have the mindset of an eighteen-year-old, but that doesn't mean I was born yesterday. You're hurt worse than you're lettin' on. That's why you dressed like a nun for bed."

He raised his brows, "A nun?"

"You're hiding. You don't want me to know how bad it is."

Busted. "TJ—"

She shook her head, effectively cutting him off, and reached for his T-shirt. He deflected her hand and then held onto her wrist, making her hand hover in mid-reach.

She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. "Let...me...see."

"No."

"Sam..." she said in warning, her mouth tight with disapproval.

"I can take care of myself," he said. "It looks worse than it is. I don't want you to flip out."

She wriggled her wrist free and pointed her finger. "I'm gonna flip out if you don't show me."

"There's nothing to worry about. I promise."

"Let me see."

"No."

She glared at him; he glared right back. They were locked for a moment in a battle of wills. Her nostrils were flaring a bit when she finally broke the stalemate and said, "Sam, if you won't show me how bad you're hurt, I'll go get Dean."

Sam frowned, indignant that she was bringing out the big guns. "Oh, come on, TJ. You're making a big deal out of nothing. It's my damn body. I'm the one who'll friggin' take care of it!"

She huffed.

"Besides," he said, "Dean already knows."

TJ gave him a skeptical side glance. "Dean already knows?"

"Yes," Sam replied, feeling a bit smug.

That gave her pause, probably because she knew Dean would be hovering over Sam if he thought Sam's injury was dire. She crossed her arms. "Fine. So, are you just gonna keep dressing like Nanook of the North until the bruises go away?"

Sam laughed, eyes wide. "Nanook of the North? I'm just wearing a T-shirt and sweats, Teej. I'm not dressed to go live in an igloo."

"Okay. Then I guess we can't have sex because you don't want me to see the bruises," she challenged.

He gave her a slow, cagey smile. "Last I checked, you don't have to be able to see me to have sex, as long as you can feel me."

TJ stared at him for a second, obviously trying to maintain her ire, but Sam didn't miss her mouth twitch with repressed humor or the desire kindling in her rich brown eyes. "What if I touch you somewhere and hurt you because I don't know where you're injured?"

He reached over and took her hand, lacing his fingers with hers. "It's not a big deal." He was still on his stomach, and he shifted his head closer to the edge of his pillow and grinned. "And I'll show you where you can touch me."

"You think just because you flash those dimples at me, I'll cave?" she questioned, pretending to be annoyed.

"How about this?" He scrunched his face into the wounded-puppy look she and Dean were always talking about.

She laughed. "I think that look only works when it's sincere."

"Oh," he said, still amused, but then he grew more serious. "I can take care of myself, TJ. Don't worry."

She sighed. "I know. But this is ridiculous, Sam. If the injury isn't a big deal, then let me see. I promise I won't freak. Besides," she said, cocking her head to the side in dismay, "it can't possibly be as bad as what I'm imagining right now. Trust me."

Sam tightened his mouth, wary, but he hated it when TJ kept things from him in order to protect him. They'd agreed not to do that to each other. "Okay," he acquiesced, letting go of her and sliding his hand under his pillow. "Have at it."

She pulled up his shirt first and gently glided her fingertips over his sore ribs. He flinched a little.

She was frowning. "I'm sorry. Did that hurt?"

"No, but it tickled."

"You're so full of it, but at least I feel better. So far, it doesn't look as bad as I thought it would."

He closed his eyes, trying not to tense up, waiting for her to check out his hip. He couldn't feel her slide his boxers and sweats down over his hip, but when she gasped, he knew what she was seeing.

"Holy shit, Sam! Good God Almighty!"

He opened his eyes. "That sounded like you're precariously close to flipping out," he said dryly.

She swallowed, her gaze glued to his hip. He watched as she reached out and very tentatively placed her hand over the bruise. "It's as big as my hand," she commented.

He made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, like a bruise the size of a hand wasn't a big deal.

"There's heat coming from it," she said.

"I think that's a good thing. It means my body is breaking down the pooled blood in the bruise so it can be reabsorbed."

After another good scrutiny of the injury, TJ gently pulled his pants and boxers back up over his hip and put his T-shirt back in place. Then she eased down next to him, draped her arm over his shoulders, and rested her head on his pillow, nose to nose with him. "Is that stuff about the blood being reabsorbed something you just made up, or is it for real?"

"It's for real," Sam said with a faint smile. "I read it today when I was skimming SCI forums to see whether I should go to a doctor or not."

"It looks painful."

"It's not. I can't feel it at all."

"That's what worries me. Are you gonna be super careful and keep a close eye on it?"

He nodded. "The good news is, it's not in a place that really gets much pressure put on it. It doesn't touch anything when I'm sitting or if I'm on my stomach. Still, it'll probably take longer to heal because of how my skin works."

She gazed at him for a long moment. "You promise you'll go to the doctor if it starts to get worse?"

"If I don't, I'm sure you'll make me."

She grinned. "I plan to check it quite often."

"Really?"

"Yep." She lifted his T-shirt and leaned in, kissing his bruised ribs where he could feel it. "Bruises need to be kissed on a regular basis so they'll heal faster," she lectured with mock authority.

Sam felt a pleasant quiver down his spine. "Maybe you should kiss everything just to be safe."

"Just tell Dr. TJ where it hurts," she drawled seductively as she kissed her way to the middle of his back. "I'll make it all better."

"Higher," he instructed, his blood pressure starting to rise.

She bunched up his shirt and kissed along his spine, up to the area where his incision scar was. Then she switched from kisses to little, feather-light circles with her tongue.

A groan of pleasure escaped him. He pointed to his earlobe. "I'm pretty sore right here, too."

She gave a throaty giggle and nibbled on the area he'd indicated, then flicked her tongue in and out of his ear.

Every cell in his body flared with sudden heat. TJ filled all five of his senses, and he could comprehend nothing except for what she was doing to him. The only thing his brain was good for was interpreting the different sensations he was experiencing. Things that required cognizant thought were beyond him—things like setting the alarm clock, so he would get up in time for his law school interview in the morning.

_**TBC**_


	34. Chapter 34

_**A/N: Well, kids, here we are at the final chapter. Thank you to Catsluver for pushing me to be better and helping me discover things I didn't know I had in me. Thank you to skzb for being so detail oriented, helping me plug plot holes, and making sure things made sense. Thank you to sallyloveslinus for your eagle eye and insights that helped me keep Sam and Dean in character. Last but not least, thank you to Cartersdaughter for picking up the beta ball toward the end. It was nice to have a fresh pair of eyes to analyze my writing. It takes a village to write a story, and I couldn't have done it without you guys.  
**_

_**Thanks again to Coolhan08 for letting me ask you a million questions and always being so gracious and helpful. Thanks to Lilac Elf for letting me bounce plot ideas off of you and for your continued support, even though I know TJ sorely tried your patience. :-) Also, special thanks for Eliza T for her lessons in Portuguese. Bjokas!  
**_

_**Thanks to those of you who have read, alerted, favorited, and reviewed this story and are still with me. You made it through 34 chapters and 629 pages. YOU ARE AWESOME.  
**_

_**That's about all I have to say here. If you're interested in what my future plans are, check out my profile. I hope this chapter will give you a satisfactory ending and tie up loose ends. Just remember what Chuck said: Endings are hard. As always, I would really like to know your final thoughts, so please review if the spirit moves you.  
**_

_**Oh, one more thing: I'm no scientist, so I hope all you molecular biologists out there will give me a break. ;-)  
**_

* * *

**Chapter 34**

**December 29, 2010 **

Sam was a mess.

He rubbed his sweaty palms on his khakis, accidentally smearing dirt on the only pair of pants he had with him. _Oh, come on, _he groaned to himself._ You gotta be kiddin' me. _

Everything that could go wrong this morning had, and he was sure he was cursed. There was no doubt about it. Whether it was a Winchester thing—as Dean and Bobby insisted—or a gift from Yellow Eyes when the demon had tainted him with demon blood, it didn't matter. He was cursed.

He could smell the scent of old books and the musty smell of a building that had seen many come and go. The waiting area of the office was austere, with an air of disapproval and disdain. There were a few antiquated yet sturdy wooden chairs along one of the walls, but Sam wasn't sitting in one of them. He was in his wheelchair, sitting almost in the center of the small anteroom because there was nowhere else for him to go.

He shifted his shoulders and pulled at the stiff collar of his shirt, suddenly feeling uncomfortably warm—again. He knew he was one of many these walls had seen, and they were unimpressed with him.

Why was he even here? He was a glutton for punishment. That's why. The last four months had been great—more than he ever would have asked for in his wildest dreams. He had everything he wanted. Why was he pushing his luck?

Aside from the fact that he was cursed, it was all TJ's fault for keeping him up last night.

"Hey," she'd said with bedroom eyes and a sexy, freckled smile this morning when they'd both woken to the first stirrings of the twins on the baby monitor.

"Hey," Sam said back, hugging her closer to him and shutting his eyes. Although he'd slept well, he was still tired from going all those hours without sleep hunting for the djinn. All he wanted was to sink back into oblivion with TJ nestled next to him. They'd had mind-blowing sex last night, and they'd both crashed afterward, completely exhausted and sated beyond their wildest dreams.

They'd done the thumb thing again. He smiled to himself at the memory. Maybe he should hunt more often just so he could come home and have brave-warrior-comes-back-from-danger reunion sex with TJ afterward. Risking his life would be worth it if he had that to look forward to every time.

He felt her brush her mouth against his lips. "Saaam," she said, adding a few extra syllables to his name with that smile still in her voice, "you can't go back to sleep. You've got to get ready for your interview."

His eyes popped open. "Fuck!" He turned his head to look at the clock and panicked.

"What's wrong?" she questioned, frowning.

"Help me get up," he commanded, his heart racing.

She got up and skirted around the bed to his side. "What's wrong?" she repeated, helping him flip over onto his back and offering her hands so she could pull him into a sitting position. Once he was up, he hastily transferred to his chair.

She put her hands on her hips. "Sam, you've still got plenty of time. The interview—"

"I have to do my bowel routine, TJ," he snapped impatiently. He was looking at her over his shoulder, already pushing his chair toward the door.

Her face fell. "Oh."

Clenching his jaw, he cursed himself for being so careless. His bowel routine usually added, at the least, an extra forty-five minutes to his morning ritual of getting dressed.

"Well," she said, "can't you just do it later, when you get back?"

"Sure. And if I crap my pants, which will probably happen if I skip my routine, I'm sure that'll really impress Wyman's sister," he shot back with a mixture of sarcasm and frustration.

TJ pursed her mouth in dismay. "Well, hurry up, then," she drawled, making a shooing motion with her hands. "Do what you have to do to get your ready on. We'll get Dean to drive us. He'll break every speed limit known to man."

And he did. Dean had been planning to leave after he said goodbye to everyone that morning, but once he knew Sam needed the services of the Impala, he put his plans to head back to Heather on hold for a few hours.

Since Fern was still on Christmas vacation from her teaching job, she offered to watch the twins so TJ could go with Sam and Dean. The three of them got to the campus of the University of Kentucky with fifteen minutes to spare. Dean temporarily parked the Impala as close to the building where Professor Cordelia Trammell had her offices as he could get, leaving the engine and the hazard lights on. It was a no-parking zone unless you had a campus permit, even if you were disabled. As Sam's luck would have it, there was a portly meter maid patrolling nearby who was giving them the stink eye, just waiting for them to park illegally so she could issue a ticket. It apparently didn't matter that, since it was Christmas break, there were five million parking spaces open in the lot near the building.

"I'll drop you off," said Dean. "TJ and I will find parking away from Robo-maid while you're in your interview. Just wait for us if you get done before we can get back."

Sam nodded, his heart rate on overdrive from nerves. It hadn't slowed since he realized he'd overslept. For once, he hardly felt the biting-cold December air when he opened the passenger door of the Impala, which was a good thing, since he'd left his heavy coat at the farm. He grabbed his navy-blue blazer and put it on.

After he transferred from the Impala to his chair, TJ sat on his lap for a second, straddling him and straightening his tie. She took his face in her hands and looked him directly in the eye, her breath coming out in little vapory puffs in the cold air. "That professor is gonna love you, Sam," she encouraged. "You have nothing to worry about."

He nodded again, loving his wife for her unwavering faith in him. "I have to go, Teej. Wyman's sister hates it if people are late."

"Okay." She gave him a reassuring kiss and stood.

Dean put his hand on Sam's shoulder. "Don't worry, dude. You know old ladies have a thing for you. Just do whatever it is you do that always turns them on."

Sam rolled his eyes. Dean chuckled, but it was suddenly cut off with an arch smirk at Sam's crotch. "Uh, that might be a bit much, though, Sammy, for your first meeting with her."

Sam looked down and tensed, more with anger than embarrassment. "Dammit!"

When TJ saw, she clamped a hand over her mouth. "Oh, my Lord." Her brown eyes were huge. "I'm so sorry, Sam."

There was a perfect tent in Sam's khakis, caused by a boner that must have happened when TJ sat on his lap. She'd sat on his lap a zillion times, and that had never happened until today. Of course.

"Here," said TJ, helping him take off his blazer and folding it neatly. She set it on his lap, covering his erection.

Sam didn't say anything, just pressed his lips together tightly. He was going to a formal interview with an anal, pompous old biddy who came from old Kentucky money. Without his jacket on, it would look like he was being a disrespectful slacker.

"Maybe it'll go away by the time you get to her office," TJ offered hopefully.

Sam wouldn't hold his breath. The one time he hoped he wouldn't have any stamina was probably the one time Little Sammy would stand at attention all day.

"Better get going," said Dean. "You got eight minutes."

Sam exhaled in irritation and swiveled his chair around to a cut in the curb to gain access to the sidewalk, then headed toward the building. Just as he heard the roar of the Impala's engine signaling TJ and Dean were driving away, he noticed there was something wrong with his chair. It was suddenly difficult to push, and he could squeeze the tire on his left wheel too easily. Because it was flat. In the span of a second, it had gone flat as a pancake.

"Really?" he said, looking up at the sky in disbelief. He drew in a breath to try to squelch his rapidly building anxiety and turned to his backpack, intending to find his can of Fix-A-Flat to squirt into his tire for a temporary fix.

Only his pack wasn't there. He'd left it in the car. Along with his cell phone. And the number for Professor Trammell's office. He couldn't call her to explain he was running late—not that it would help if he did. Wyman's words echoed in Sam's head: _"You'll blow it for sure if you're late."_

"Fuck!" Sam yelled, but there was no one around to hear. The campus was deserted. Even the meter maid was nowhere to be seen—probably off stalking TJ and Dean.

Sam clenched his jaw and wheeled himself toward the building with forcible, jerky pushes. It was ten times harder to push his chair with a flat tire, but he was pissed—and determined.

When he finally reached the building, he punched the accessible button by the door with a vengeance, and the door slowly opened for him. At least the fucking button was working.

But the elevator wasn't.

He stared at the handwritten sign stuck to the closed elevator doors that said "Out of Order," his heart sinking and his gut knotting. Professor Trammell's office was on the third floor.

Sam rarely ever lost his temper, but he was dangerously close to it right now. He slid a finger underneath his collar, feeling uncomfortably warm from the exertion of pushing his chair with a flat and the heat of his growing fury. He glanced at his watch. One minute until his interview. "Friggin' awesome," he said aloud through gritted teeth.

He angrily swung his chair around, feeling off kilter and almost falling out because of the flat tire, and tried not to let himself think about how futile it probably was to even attempt to get to the dean's office now. Instead, he gave himself a pep talk. Maybe Wyman's sister wasn't as bad as Wyman had warned. Maybe she would still see Sam even if he was a little late. Maybe she would understand if Sam explained what happened.

With that faint hope, he found the stairwell, wrestled open the heavy wooden slab of a door, and stopped in his tracks once he was inside. The door slammed shut behind him, echoing in the cavernous stairwell. Sam's gaze followed the flights of stairs up, craning his neck to see how far he needed to go. Three flights, each with fourteen steps and landings in between. That was thirty-eight more steps than he'd ever attempted before.

He swallowed, rethinking this. Maybe he should wait for TJ and Dean. One of them could go up to Professor Trammell's office and explain Sam's difficulty, and maybe she would make a concession and come down to the first floor to meet with him.

Where were Dean and TJ, anyway? How long did it take to park a friggin' car? Then again, most college campuses were notorious for being stingy on parking.

Sam took one more wary look at the stairs and decided to wait another five minutes. He wrestled the door back open and made his way to the lobby, watching out the glass doors for TJ and Dean. It was the longest five minutes of Sam's life, and when the time limit was up, there was no sign of his wife or his brother.

What the hell was TJ doing parking the car with Dean anyway? Why hadn't she come with Sam? What had she been thinking? Apparently, she hadn't been. Then again, no one else had thought of her coming with him either.

With a sigh of dread, Sam fought the door to the stairwell for the third time, flinching this time when the door shut behind him with a slam of doom. He scrutinized the flights of stairs and decided it was official. He was gonna die.

Even as he backed up to the first step and started to heave himself up by holding onto the rail with one hand and reaching across his body with the other to push his wheel, he was berating himself for being a fool. If his hand slipped and he lost control, he could seriously hurt himself and/or damage his chair.

Once up on the first step, Sam rested for a second, balancing on his back wheels, and tried to clear his head of negative thoughts. Thinking about how stupid this was wouldn't help. After conquering a few steps, he got into a rhythm: pull on the rail and push his wheel, balance; pull and push, balance; pull and push, balance.

Two-thirds of the way up the first flight, he could feel sweat break out on his upper lip and forehead. He wanted to wipe it away, but he didn't dare let go of the stair railing or his wheel. "I can do this," he muttered under his breath. "I can do this." He kept repeating it to himself over and over.

When he made it to the first landing, he didn't look down to see how far he'd come. It was too daunting to know he had to do it two more times. After what seemed like an eternity of taxing his concentration, nerves, and muscles to their limits, he finally reached the third-floor landing. He was sweating and panting and felt like he'd just had a strenuous workout. Essentially, he had. He hoped his deodorant was working and he hadn't just added smelly armpits to his list of woes.

Sam wiped the sweat from his face with his hand and glanced at his watch. He was surprised to see it had only taken him fifteen minutes to get up the stairs. He was now twenty-four minutes late. Considering everything that had happened, it didn't seem like such a bad offense. He prayed Professor Trammell wouldn't think so, either.

He exited the stairwell and wheeled down a lonely hallway until he found a wooden door with textured glass clearly marked "Associate Dean for Admissions, Cordelia Trammell." He opened the door into a small anteroom. There were a couple of empty desks that Sam assumed were there for the administrative staff who were probably on vacation. There were two other solid wooden doors that led off the anteroom, one shut and one open. The one that was open was to an office that was dark and empty. Sam pushed himself toward the closed door, his sore ribs and shoulders aching from the exertion of getting up the stairs and the added difficulty of the flat tire.

He took a fortifying breath and knocked.

"Yes?" said the clipped voice of a woman behind the door.

"Professor Trammell? I'm Sam Winchester. We were supposed to have an interview this morning. I'm sorry I'm—"

"Have a seat Mr. Winchester." The words themselves were innocuous, but the tone was an imperious command—a distinctly unfriendly one.

Sam hung his head, getting a bad feeling, and replied, "Okay. Sure."

And now here he was, sitting in the middle of the ominously quiet office, awaiting his fate. The good news was that his hard-on had gone away, but now he didn't know which would be worse: not wearing his blazer and looking unkempt or wearing his blazer, exposing the dirt smears on his khakis, and looking unkempt. He decided to wear the blazer. Maybe the smears on his pants wouldn't be that noticeable. He made a sarcastic mental note to himself that sweaty palms, dirty wheels, and khakis were a bad mix.

Time ticked by slowly on the utilitarian round clock on the wall, mocking him. To top it all off, his legs were now bouncing up and down uncontrollably. It was like his legs were nervous, too. He put his hands on his knees and pressed down, but it did nothing to stop the steady jiggling.

Finally, the wooden door creaked open. He snapped his head up, his pulse quickening.

_This_ was the moment he'd missed all those years ago.

This was the interview he would have had if Jessica hadn't died and he hadn't quit Stanford to get back into hunting.

Professor Trammell walked out into the anteroom, and Sam's heart sank to the very bottom of his gut. She was tall and thin, surprisingly attractive for an older woman, and not at all what Sam expected. She seemed younger than Wyman, not older. She'd obviously taken better care of herself than her brother had. She was bundled up in a long black coat, wearing an expensive-looking, camel-colored silk scarf and a tan leather handbag slung over one shoulder. In one of her hands was a black leather briefcase. She was clearly on her way out.

Sam looked up at her. "Professor Trammell, I—"

She cut him off with a gesture of her free hand and looked down her nose at him, a look of arrogant derision on her patrician features as she took in his disheveled appearance and jiggling legs. There was no display of sympathy or even a passing curiosity that Sam was in a wheelchair. She seemed completely indifferent to his disability, which he normally would have appreciated; but in this case, it made it less likely she would be sympathetic to his excuses for being late.

She looked nothing like Wyman. She had grayish-blond hair pulled back in a severe bun, cold blue eyes, and pale skin that had probably never seen the sun. Sam wondered if either she or Wyman had been secretly adopted because they didn't look like they could possibly be from the same family.

"My time is valuable, Mr. Winchester."

"I know. I—"

"Not to mention this was a favor for my...brother." She said "brother" with a noticeable hint of distaste and a flare of her nostrils that underlined what she thought of Wyman.

"Please. I know. I—"

"Do you realize how many people would have killed for this opportunity you've been afforded?"

"Yes. I—"

"And yet you show up late."

Sam pressed his lips together and clenched his jaw. "Professor, if you'll just—"

"I've done my part—more than my part—coming up here during my time off, during my winter break. You could have at least shown me the courtesy of being on time."

Sam searched his brain for words that would appease her, for something that would at least convince her to listen to him, but she turned on the heel of her black high-heeled boot and left him sitting there without another word.

He slowly closed his eyes, feeling almost numb. This was it. His big chance. And TJ was right. The fates or The Powers That Be had spoken. It wasn't meant to be. He should just accept it.

Well, fuck that.

He exhaled a harsh breath through his nose, wheeled his chair through the door, and pushed with all his might because of his still-flat tire to catch up with the professor as she walked down the hall. She was nearly to the door of the stairwell. As she put her hand on the door handle, Sam yelled, "Professor Trammell, please wait!"

She froze for a second, enough time for him to get within a few feet of her, and then she tossed a look over her shoulder at him. "That's _Dean_ Trammell, not 'Professor,'" she corrected haughtily, and then she was gone, the stairwell door slamming behind her and her booted footsteps echoing as she quickly descended the stairs.

Sam was once again surrounded by silence. He stared stupidly at the door to the stairwell, the door that Dean-Not-Professor Trammell had disappeared through, right along with his dream of law school. Because he was done. He might be dense, and it might have taken him awhile to get the message, but he was done. He'd been knocked down one too many times. He'd been an idiot to even attempt to get into another law school, and he was lucky just his pride was hurt and not someone he loved.

The curse had gone relatively easy on him this time.

He tried to ignore the tightening of his chest and the lump of sickening disappointment that had congealed in the pit of his stomach. He had a viselike grip on his wheels, and he forced himself to let go, rotating his shoulders a bit to try and ease some of the tension in them.

Drawing in a ragged breath, he wondered how he was going to get down to the first floor. He could basically do the reverse of the side-wheel method, but he didn't want to do it alone, and it would be easier if he could attempt to air up his tire first. When he heard footsteps stomping up the stairwell, he was relieved, certain it was TJ and Dean, even though it sounded like it was only one set of footsteps. The footsteps got slower as they approached.

When the stairwell door opened, Sam was startled to see it was Dean Trammell. She carefully held the heavy door until it eased shut, not letting it slam. Then she turned to him, one hand resting on the tan leather of her handbag. Her face was inscrutable as she stared down her nose at him again, assessing him.

He wasn't sure what to think, so he stared boldly, almost insolently back up at her. He didn't owe anything to this lady anymore. He had nothing to lose because he'd already lost it, and he was no longer worried about what she thought of him.

Finally, she spoke in her stern, imperious manner. "Tell me, Mr. Winchester. How did you get up here to the third floor, since the elevator is out of commission for maintenance?"

Several seconds stretched heavily between them before Sam replied evenly, "I took the stairs."

There was a twitch to her mouth and a flash of something almost like admiration in her frosty eyes that Sam might have missed if he'd blinked. Her eyes rested on his flat tire for a moment before meeting his gaze and holding it. She pursed her mouth in a snooty manner. "Come, Mr. Winchester. We have an interview to conduct, and I don't have all day."

Not waiting for a response, she stalked past him, her booted heels clicking with authority as she made her way toward her offices.

Stunned, Sam hesitated for a beat, then swiveled his chair around and followed—unable to hide the huge grin spreading across his face.

**XXXXXXXX**

"Mama, has Sam seemed—I don't know—kind of quiet to you lately?" TJ asked as she finished smearing Butt Paste onto Robby's bottom, wiped her fingers clean with a wet wipe, and put a diaper on him. She was much better at it now and had him dressed in no time in OshKosh tan corduroy overalls. He wore a mini version of a plaid button-down shirt like the ones Sam often wore underneath the overalls. She completed the ensemble with thick navy-blue baby socks and soft leather Robeez shoes that looked like monkeys to keep Robby's feet warm.

Fern had already diapered and dressed Sami Joy in pink corduroy overalls similar to Robby's with a mini, matching light pink turtleneck underneath, pink socks, and pink Robeez that had teddy bears on them. Both babies looked beyond cute with their little round bellies and chubby arms and legs, making TJ's heart swell with love. She picked Robby up and kissed him on the cheek, inhaling his baby scent. He gave her a dimpled smile and a little giggle in return.

Fern frowned in consternation at TJ's question and turned her face away as Sami Joy tried to grab her nose. Fern took Sami Joy's hand and pressed it to her lips, kissing the palm of it and then blowing a raspberry. Sami Joy laughed, showing a smile almost identical to her brother's.

"Well, hon," Fern said to TJ, "I haven't really noticed much difference in Sam, except maybe he's been a bit distracted in the last few days. I just thought maybe he was swamped with trying to wrap up things with his clients and getting all that paralegal stuff squared away, since he'll be starting law school soon."

"Yeah. Maybe so."

"You think it's something else?"

"I don't know. He was fine—elated even—after his interview with Dean Trammell, but something put a damper on it after he talked to Bobby."

Fern frowned again. "You don't think Bobby said something that hurt his feelings, do you?"

"No, no," said TJ, shaking her head. "I can't imagine Bobby would be anything but supportive that Sam's going back to school. Dean, you, Daddy, me—we've all been so happy for him. Why would Bobby be any different? He loves Sam like a son."

"Have you tried talking to Sam?" asked Fern.

"Yeah. He always says he's fine."

"Try again, TJ, and keep trying. He'll open up to you eventually."

TJ sighed. "Yeah. I'll keep trying."

"Go right now. I think I saw him headin' out to the back porch. I'll give the twins their snacks. Just put Robby in his highchair for me."

TJ drew her mom into a hug, careful not to squish any babies. "Thanks, Mama. I love you."

Fern smiled. "I love you, too, sugar."

After TJ got Robby secured in his highchair, she bundled up in the thickest jacket she owned and found Sam sitting on the wicker loveseat on the porch. His forearm crutches lay across the empty side of the loveseat. He'd been wearing his leg braces for most of the day.

The bruise on his hip was healing, and he didn't seem to be suffering any lingering effects from the fight with the djinn, thank God. TJ had been true to her promise, keeping a close eye on his injury. So far so good. All was well.

She picked up his crutches and carefully leaned them against the side of the house, then curled up next to Sam. The loveseat was small and cozy. He put his arm around her shoulders and hugged her to him, his only acknowledgment of her presence. She wrapped an arm around his torso and kissed his cheek, which was flushed and chilly from the cold.

She worried he wasn't warm enough, but at least he had on his heavy jacket and a black wool scarf, which added a kind of sexy, Euro vibe to him. He'd taken to wearing more scarves and sweaters lately in order to keep warm, since he'd ended up liking the sweater she'd gotten him for Christmas from the Gap. TJ liked the look on him. The sweaters were made of plain, soft wool and didn't make him look like Mr. Rogers. They just made him look more sophisticated. Then again, Sam would look good in anything. _Or nothing at all_, she thought wickedly, smiling to herself.

He was staring out at the backyard. It was a drizzly, freezing-cold January day, a couple of days after New Year's and the twins' first birthday (ages not adjusted). It was kind of confusing, trying to decide which birthday to celebrate with the twins—the day they were actually born or the one where they were developed enough to actually be considered babies instead of fetuses. In the end, Sam and TJ decided to celebrate both birthdays, so the twins would have a bigger one-year celebration on April 30th, which would have been their due date.

TJ looked out at the backyard, trying to see what Sam was seeing, but she didn't think he was out there enjoying the view. The mountains were hardly visible in the rain, and besides, his thoughts seemed a million miles away.

"Enjoying the nice weather?" she quipped.

His answer was an absent, "Yeah."

She didn't think her question had even registered with him. Rising up a little on her knees, she nibbled his chilled earlobe. "Pay attention to me," she murmured into his ear, then trailed little kisses beneath his jawline.

He seemed to snap out of his trance and gave a small, husky chuckle, then laced his fingers with hers. Neither of them were wearing gloves, and the slightly warmer heat generated by their hands melding together helped stave off the wet cold.

She kissed her way to his cheek and the dimple there.

"Mmm. How could I ignore that?" he asked.

She met his hazel eyes and smiled. "That's better."

He placed a tender kiss on her lips. Now that she had his attention, she grazed her fingers over his lips and the icy tip of his nose. "What are you doing out here, Sam? It's freezing."

He shrugged and looked back out at the yard. "Just thinking."

"About what?"

"Nothing really."

TJ tensed, concerned and frustrated. "Sam, I know something's goin' on with you. Why won't you talk to me?"

He swallowed, his mouth tightening into a thin line.

"Did Bobby say something when you called him the other day? Was he not glad you got into UK Law?"

"No. I mean, he was happy about it," Sam said matter-of-factly.

"Then why have you been so quiet since your conversation with him?"

He looked at her and raised his brows. "I've been quiet?"

She squeezed his hand for emphasis. "Yes. It's freaking me out. I'm worried about you."

His forehead wrinkled, and his voice was low and soft when he spoke. "I'm fine, Teej. I don't want you to worry about me."

She made a noise of exasperation. "Come on, Sam. I know something's on your mind. Please tell me. Maybe I can help. If not, I'm still your wife. Aren't we supposed to share each other's burdens?"

He let out a long breath, which left a puff of vapor that quickly dissipated into the air. "I think the burdens you share with me are a lot heavier than the average couple's."

She snuggled closer to warm both him and herself up and tilted her head to where she could see his face. "Please tell me, Sam. Nothing you say will ever change the way I feel about you."

He kissed her forehead, but then his jaw hardened. "It's the same old crap, TJ."

"What same old crap?"

"The demon blood."

"Oh." Foreboding washed through her, pooling in the bottom of her stomach. Sam sat there, not saying anything, and she was too afraid to prompt him despite her brave words a second ago.

Finally, he gave a resigned sigh and started talking. "Bobby found out that sulfur leaves a residue in blood. He found it out from another hunter he talked to just before I called to tell him I got into law school."

"I don't get it. What does sulfur have to do with anything?"

"It's a sign of demons. They leave a sulfur residue behind wherever they go. Somehow, it was discovered in the blood of someone who was possessed by a demon. It was one of the few times the demon didn't kill its host, and the person was rushed to a hospital. At some point, the victim's blood was screened and the sulfur showed up. Apparently, the residue of it is present in someone who's been recently possessed, but then it disappears after a few hours."

"What does this have to do with you?"

His brow creased again. "I've just been thinking."

"Okay. And?" TJ prodded a little impatiently.

Sam shifted his gaze back to the yard beyond them. "What if the sulfur would show up in my blood?"

"Well, what if it did? We already know you've still got the mojo. Why would you care if it shows up in your blood? A blood test wouldn't tell you anything you didn't already know."

He gave her a penetrating look. "Because if it shows up in my blood, maybe it would show up in the twins' blood."

An unexpected lump of cold fear stuck in TJ's throat, cutting off her air for a moment. She couldn't speak.

Sam began to explain. "Exactly six months from the date of the twins' actual birth, I stayed up to watch over them for several nights before and after just to be sure no demon snuck into their room." At TJ's surprised look, he said, "It was right before you came home from the hospital. I wanted to make sure there wasn't a repeat of what happened to me when I was a baby. You didn't remember or know anything about my past—plus, you weren't exactly enamored with me—so I didn't tell you."

TJ winced. She would feel guilty for the way she'd treated Sam during that time for the rest of her life.

He pressed a tender kiss to her lips, a gesture of absolution, and continued. "No demon showed up to hurt the twins. I made sure of that."

"Then why are you still stuck on this, Sam?"

"Because what if no demon showed because there was no need? Maybe the demons know something we don't. Maybe they already know that the twins inherited my demon blood."

TJ tried to tamp down the ire that was starting to build within her. "Sam, what does it matter? It wouldn't change anything if we found out the twins had it. Just let it go and move on. It's not like we'd love them any less if they did have the demon blood."

"But if we knew, it would change things. We'd have to prepare them, TJ."

She scowled at him in alarm. "For what?"

"Anything! Anything the friggin' fuglies might throw at them!" As if realizing he'd raised his voice, Sam lowered it but was somber. "If Sami Joy and Robby have the demon blood in them, their whole lives could be affected, just like mine was."

TJ didn't want to even contemplate that the twins might encounter the horrific things Sam had dealt with in his lifetime. The thought made her stomach clench painfully. She wanted Robby and Sami Joy to have a childhood like hers, filled with laughter, love, understanding, and innocence—not violence, fear, heartbreak, and the possibility that the devil himself might have some preordained purpose for them. She didn't speak. She didn't want to give what Sam said credence. If she ignored it, it couldn't possibly come true.

Sam released TJ's hand and rubbed his thumb over her cheekbone, his graceful fingers sliding into her hair. His eyes were soulful and apologetic, as if he knew what she was thinking. "If I'd known about what the demon did to me sooner," he said quietly, "maybe I could have prepared, been more on guard. Maybe Jessica would still be alive."

"You wish Jessica were still alive?" As soon as TJ blurted out the words, she wanted to kick herself. It had slipped out, and she hated how insensitive and jealous she must have sounded.

Sam's forehead creased.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly, genuinely contrite. "I shouldn't have said that. I know what you mean. Of course you would want Jessica alive."

Sam's arm tightened around TJ, and she laid her head on his shoulder, still regretting her outburst.

"Yes," he said, "I wish Jessica were alive, but that doesn't mean I'd want to change what I have with you."

"I know. I'm sorry," she said again.

"It's just that, knowing Jessica died because she was unlucky enough to know me..." He blew out a harsh breath. "I've lived with the guilt of her death for so long. There's not a day that goes by that I don't wish I'd paid attention to those warning nightmares I had before she died or that I'd simply walked the other direction the first time I ever met her. If I'd only known what Yellow Eyes had done to me, what he had in store, what to look for, that the dreams were premonitions..."

TJ took his hand and kissed his knuckles. "I didn't know Jessica, but I think, if she loved you like I do, she would disagree that it was unlucky to know you. None of what happened was your fault, Sam. None of it. I think Jessica would be grateful for every minute she got to spend with you. She wouldn't blame you."

He was silent.

"Sam—"

"The point is, TJ, if the twins have the demon blood, if there's a possibility that they've inherited my _gift,_" he said sourly, "then I want them to know how to deal with it. If something like what happened with Jessica can be prevented... I mean, I don't want Sami Joy and Robby to have to live with guilt like that. I never want them to experience that if it can be avoided."

"So, if they have the demon blood, does that mean they can't ever fall in love or have a family in case a demon might show up someday?" TJ asked, playing devil's advocate.

Sam's jaw squared. "No, but if they someday have visions that something bad is going to happen, they'd know to take them seriously instead of ignoring them and letting someone they love die."

TJ let that sink in, her heart aching for Sam. She'd had no idea he harbored such remorse for Jessica's death, but she should have known. Sam would blame himself because he always carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"Okay," TJ muttered into his chest, inhaling the heady scent of him.

"Okay what?"

She turned her face outward, so he could hear her. "My mom has a fully equipped lab at the high school where she teaches. There's a test we can do to see if there's sulfur present in organic compounds. Blood is organic."

He was quiet for a second and then said, "You sure?"

"Will it give you peace of mind?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Either way, I want to know what we face—what the twins face."

"Then...okay."

He kissed the top of her head. TJ knew he was thanking her for understanding, and she did understand—but it did nothing to lessen her dread.

**XXXXXXXX**

"That should do it," Fern muttered to herself. She had on a black lab apron, safety goggles that squished her poofy, helmet-like blond hair in at the sides, and white latex gloves. She was heating a fusion tube over a Bunsen burner, holding the tube steady with beaker tongs.

TJ, Vern, and Sam all watched, mesmerized by the blue flame of the burner as the fusion tube, filled with a small amount of Sam's blood mixed with sodium metal, turned red hot on the bottom. TJ's heartbeat pulsed through her body with tangible little thumps she could feel and even count, if she'd been so inclined.

Fern took the tube away from the flame and quickly plunged it into an evaporating dish of distilled water. The coldness of the distilled water caused the hot glass of the fusion tube to shatter.

"Uh-oh," noised Vern.

"Don't worry," said TJ. She was standing next to her mom, dressed in protective gear identical to Fern's. TJ shot her dad a quick glance through her safety goggles, then quickly refocused on the evaporating dish with the residue of the sodium and Sam's blood. "It's supposed to do that, Daddy."

"You wanna crush it up and boil it?" Fern asked TJ.

TJ nodded, surprised to feel a rush of excitement, along with the trepidation that hadn't left her since her conversation with Sam. It had been awhile, but she could feel the familiar thrill of fascination she got every time she was in her mom's high school classroom lab. Lord, how she'd missed it. School was back in session from winter break, but they had met Fern after her last class let out for the day to test Sam's and the twins' blood for sulfur. TJ still wasn't sure she wanted to know the results.

She told herself it didn't matter, that nothing would make her love Sam or the twins any less—which was absolutely, unequivocally true. But she didn't want Robby and Sami Joy to have to face what Sam had faced in his life. She wanted them to be free of it.

TJ forced herself to concentrate on the task at hand. Using a glass rod, she crushed the broken glass from the tube, along with the fusion of Sam's blood and the melted sodium—which had formed a sort of saltlike substance—in a dish filled with distilled water. Once that was done, she began the process of boiling the dish over a second Bunsen burner sitting on the tall, white counter. The "salt" began to dissolve after it had been boiling for a few minutes.

Sam cleared his throat. "What are you doing now?"

"Making sodium fusion extract, otherwise known as Lassaigne's extract."

His eyebrows unfurled from his worried, tense look for a second to raise quizzically.

She smiled at him with sympathy. She knew the suspense was about to kill him. If her heart was beating a thousand beats a minute, his was probably beating a million. No one wanted the twins to be demon-blood-free more than Sam.

"The excess of sodium mixed with your blood reacts with the distilled water to give sodium hydroxide," TJ explained. "The resulting alkaline solution is called Lassaigne's extract or sodium fusion extract. When it's done boiling here in a minute, I'll filter it to remove the insoluble materials. The filtrate that is left will be used to test for the sulfur."

Vern gave her a sharp look with his bright-blue eyes. "How do you know all that?"

TJ realized he was thinking she might have remembered something. "It's basic organic chemistry, Daddy," she answered apologetically. "I learned it in high school. Right, Mama?"

Fern "mm-hmmed" absently while preparing a second fusion tube with Sami Joy's blood in order to repeat the process she'd used for Sam's.

"I think it's ready," TJ said to her mom.

Fern peered over at the boiling solution and nodded. "All right, hon. You know what to do next."

TJ filtered the solution as she'd explained she would do into a clean dish, then looked over at Sam. He was gripping the wheels of his tires so hard his knuckles where white. "I'm going to add a few drops of sodium nitroprusside to the SFE—the sodium fusion extract. If sulfur is present in the organic compound we used, which in this case is your blood, the SFE will turn deep violet in color."

Sam gave a swift nod of acknowledgment.

TJ prepared a Pasteur pipette, a thing that looked like a giant eye dropper, with the sodium nitroprusside. She drew in a deep breath and then released a few drops of the SNP into the dish containing the SFE. It immediately turned a deep violet color. TJ blew out the breath she'd been holding slowly through her lips and met Sam's soulful gaze. "It turned violet," she said softly. "There's no doubt there's a presence of sulfur."

He swallowed hard and nodded faintly, shifting his eyes away and back.

Fern and Vern both wore grim expressions. Vern squeezed Sam's shoulder while Fern said gently, "Well, it's not like we didn't already know."

"Right," said Sam. His jaw was rigid, as if straining to rein in his emotions.

TJ shared a look with her parents, and then Fern said quietly, "Sami Joy's sample is almost ready for the next step."

TJ nodded and reached for the clean set of dishes and tools she'd already set aside, then repeated the steps for making the SFE with Sami Joy's blood.

The twins were being watched by Aunt Joyce and Aunt Tru back at the farm. Vern and TJ had talked Aunt Tru into drawing blood from the twins, since she was a nurse. She'd been reluctant, and TJ didn't blame her. TJ thought it had more to do with the fact that Aunt Tru didn't want to stick the twins and hurt them than reluctance over the mysterious reason TJ wanted the blood. In the end, Tru had done it without asking too many questions, once Vern convinced her it was important.

The twins had each cried for a minute and then calmed, as if nothing had happened, and gone back to crawling and picking up any tiny speck off the floor they could find and putting it into their mouths. TJ figured the adults involved in the whole blood-drawing process were more traumatized by it than Sami Joy and Robby.

TJ's pulse pounded in her ears as she added a few drops of the sodium nitroprusside to the filtrate made from her baby girl's blood. Again, TJ held her breath and waited. Nothing happened. No violet color. She waited another few seconds just to be sure and then looked at Sam, giving him a small, relieved smile. "No change. There's no sulfur. She doesn't have it."

Sam closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them, his gaze locking solemnly with TJ's. It wasn't time for celebration yet. Robby's blood still needed to be tested.

For the third time, Fern and TJ went through the steps, preparing the SFE with Robby's blood. By the time TJ was ready to add the drops of sodium nitroprusside to Robby's solution, her hands were shaking, and she had a queasy feeling in her stomach. _Please, dear Lord. Please don't let Robby have the demon blood. Please._

She lifted her eyes from the dish where she held the pipette suspended over it to Sam. He was pale, jaw set, broad shoulders stiff. He still had a death grip on his wheels. Fern and Vern were utterly silent. The fear and apprehension in the room was so thick it felt like a wet blanket hovering over all of them, threatening to smother them.

TJ held Sam's attention, trying to tell him without words that it didn't matter, that no matter what the outcome, whether Robby had the demon blood or not, they would survive.

Sam's eyes were haunted and desperate, as if he expected the worst, and his distress broke TJ's heart. Not waiting a moment longer, she let the drops fall into the filtrate made of Robby's blood and, again, held her breath, afraid to even blink.

Nothing happened.

She stared at the dish for so long that, finally, Fern said in a reverent tone, "Praise Jesus."

"Does that mean he don't have it?" asked Vern, tentative hope in his voice.

Fern's voice shook with emotion. "He doesn't have it. There's no sulfur in Robby's blood either."

TJ was numb for an instant before relief hit her so hard she felt weak in the knees. She began to tremble, unable to tear her eyes from the evaporation dish, until she felt her parents take her into a group hug. She let them hold her for a second, her dad murmuring a quick prayer of thanks to add to her mother's. Then TJ broke away, quickly pulling off her safety gear and handing it to her mom, needing to find Sam. He'd pushed himself over to the bank of windows in the lab and was staring out at the clear, crisp, January sky.

TJ went over to him, diverting his attention from the sky to her as she sat down on his lap, both of her legs hanging over his wheel. There were no words for what she was feeling. She took his face in her hands and stared into his beautiful eyes, which were illuminated and made lighter by the sun shining in through the windows. She saw in his gaze the depth of what he felt, a relief so profound it reached out to her and touched her soul.

They stayed that way for a moment, his throat working as he wrapped his arms around her. Finally, in a husky voice thick with emotion, he said, "No demon blood."

TJ felt her eyes sting, and her heart felt like it was being squeezed by some unknown force. "No demon blood," she echoed with a shake of her head.

He lost his composure then, his eyelids shutting against tears that slipped past anyway. He buried his face into the curve of her shoulder, tightening his arms around her, and vibrated with silent sobs, releasing what was probably years of pent up anguish, fear, and grief.

TJ had never seen him so emotional, and she felt a fierce need to protect him. Sliding her arms around his neck, she gathered all the comfort and solace she could muster and willed it into him.

Fern and Vern, ever wise and considerate, left the room, quietly closing the door to the lab behind them.

**XXXXXXXX**

"Sorry. That was kind of emo," said Sam, embarrassed he'd just cried like a girl in front of TJ. He drew away from her enough that he could wipe his wet face and nose hastily with his sleeve.

"It's okay," she said with an understanding look. "You're human."

He laughed with a tinge of irony. "We just did a test that proves I'm not—not that there was any doubt before."

She pressed her forehead against his. "All that test proves is that you're special, Sam."

"Right," he replied with half an eye roll, then smirked and gave her a tender kiss on the lips.

She giggled softly, and her long lashes fanned against her cheeks as she glanced down for a second before lifting her gaze again. "I think we should go. I wanna see the twins."

He grinned. "Yeah. Me, too." He felt lighter, like a heavy, strangling yoke had been lifted from his shoulders. Robby and Sami Joy were free. They had a chance at normal.

TJ stood, gave him one last kiss and a squeeze of his hand, and then headed for the door. Sam pushed himself, following behind her, but he almost ran over her when she stopped suddenly. She seemed frozen, head tilted slightly to the left, staring at a plastic model of a DNA double helix that was set up on a counter near the door.

Sam had seen her freeze like that before, and he wondered—hoped—that maybe she was remembering something. He gripped his wheels, tensing his arms and shoulders, afraid the slightest movement might distract her.

Slowly, she walked to the DNA model, stared at it for another minute, and then lovingly ran her fingertips over it. "It's an excellent representation for a high school model," she said, never taking her eyes off it. "Unlike most introductory DNA models, it shows the major and minor grooves in the helix and indicates whether there are two or three hydrogen bonds between each base pair."

Sam raised his brows, having only a vague idea of what she was talking about.

"Every base is a different shape," she went on. "The differences are subtle, but you can see it if you know what you're looking for. They've even made the sugars out of a slightly different plastic so that the model flexes correctly to create a double helix." Her brows came together in a slightly perplexed frown. "Huh. You can tell it's a British model because the phosphate groups are purple, not yellow." She glanced at Sam. "Strange that my mom has a British model and not an American one."

"Right. Strange," he agreed, feeling his heart rate accelerate but trying not to act like anything out of the ordinary was happening.

"Did you know the replication of both prokaryotic and eukaryotic DNAs starts at a unique sequence called the 'origin of replication,' which serves as a specific binding site for proteins that initiate the replication process?"

"Uh, no, I didn't," Sam answered lightly, hiding the hope that was expanding in his chest with each passing second.

Aside from a faint twitch at the corner of her mouth, TJ continued talking to him as if he had a friggin' clue what she meant. "The first origin to be defined was that of _E_. _coli_, in which genetic analysis indicated that replication always begins at a unique site on the bacterial chromosome. The _E_. _coli_ origin has since been studied in detail and found to consist of 245 base pairs of DNA, elements of which serve as binding sites for proteins required to initiate DNA replication."

Sam wheeled closer to her and took her hand, tugging on it. It was the signal that he wanted her to sit in his lap.

She obliged, looking him in the eye, the twitch in her lips getting closer to a smile. "The key step is the binding of an initiator protein to specific DNA sequences within the origin. The initiator protein begins to unwind the origin DNA and recruits the other proteins involved in DNA synthesis. Helicase and—"

Sam interrupted her by kissing her on her neck just under her ear.

TJ inhaled a sharp breath before continuing. "—single-stranded DNA-binding proteins then act to continue unwinding and exposing the template DNA, and primase initiates the synthesis of leading strands."

"I love it when you talk dirty," Sam said, nibbling her earlobe and flicking his tongue in her ear.

"Oh," she responded with a high-pitched, pleasurable moan. "Two—two replication forks are formed and move in opposite directions along the circular _E_. _coli_ chromosome. There's—"

"Teej?" he murmured into the skin of her neck.

"Hmm?"

He halted in his devouring of her and spoke in a measured tone, holding her sparkling gaze. "That didn't sound like high school biology."

She paused, drawing in a breath and then letting out a noise that sounded like it was part sob and part incredulous laugh. "It wasn't."

"So," he rasped, his voice full of emotion, "you remember?"

She bit her bottom lip, a smile of wonder and delight on her face. "I remember. Well," she added a little dryly, "at least about the replication of both prokaryotic and eukaryotic DNAs."

He grinned and tapped her temple. "But maybe there's more in there than you thought?"

She grinned back. "I think maybe there is."

Blood soaring in his veins, Sam framed her face in his hands and claimed her mouth in a searing kiss. They had a life waiting for them, a life full of hope and love. A future.

He wasn't an idiot. He knew their future wouldn't be perfect or without its challenges, even the supernatural ones that came along with being a Winchester—and he wasn't foolish enough to believe his curse had miraculously ended. But after all they'd been through, Sam knew he and TJ would be okay as long as they faced whatever life threw at them together.

Curses be damned. Sam Winchester was the luckiest man alive.

_**THE END**_


End file.
